


The Emporium of Christmas Enchantments

by almaasi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Biromantic Dean, Christmas, Cowboy Castiel, Cute overload, Deaf Character, Dean Winchester Has a Crush on Castiel, Emotional Dean, First Kiss, Fluff, Holding Hands, Illustrated, M/M, Magic, Miniature Castiel, Miniature Dean, Mute Castiel, Mute Dean, Pining Dean, Romance, Sign Language, Smart Dean, Socks, Team Free Will, Toy Soldier Dean, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, sentient toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-14 14:08:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13009467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almaasi/pseuds/almaasi
Summary: Every night when the clock strikes twelve, all the toys in the toymaker’s workshop come to life. Dean is a little wooden soldier, so easily distracted by the pretty dolls. However, in the nights leading up to Christmas, he feels drawn to a very different kind of toy: Castiel, a kindhearted cowboy displayed on the other side of the store. Dean and Castiel spend all their time together, spreading joy and festive cheer throughout their miniature community. But once the Christmas rush comes around, will fate allow them to stay together?(Perhaps... with a little sprinkling of Christmas magic, even the wishes of simple toys can come true.)***NOW COMPLETE!***





	1. Friendship

**Author's Note:**

> This story was partially inspired by the non-tragic Disney version of Han Christian Andersen’s _The Steadfast Tin Soldier_ , featured in _Fantasia 2000_ – and there’s undoubtedly some _Toy Story_ and Jedediah/Octavius from _Night at the Museum_ in here, too.
> 
> Most of this fic is written already – there will be eight chapters in total – so I intend to post regularly during 2017’s Christmas season, and you won’t have to wait too long between updates. I recommend [subscribing](http://archiveofourown.org/users/almaasi/) so you don’t miss anything! ♥
> 
> Wishing you sparkly, joyful Christmas tidings, my friends!!  
> Elmie x

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dean makes a new friend.

Every night at midnight, all the toys in the toymaker’s workshop came to life.

Moonlight glazed the single window pane on the left, highlighting the silver snow heaped on the sill outside. Just along from the window, shelves and shelves of sleeping toys hid in the darkness.

Further to the right, crowned with shining tinsel, an ancient grandfather clock stood, its golden face adorned with holly. Upon the lower ledge of the clockface was a leather mouse with black-pinhead eyes, forever waiting for the clock to change. The hands of the clock were both ornate spires, slowly making their way up towards the XII at the top.

Just a few more seconds...

Tick.

Tick.

 _Tock_.

The minute hand twitched up, and the points aligned.

From deep in the belly of the clock, the melody of the Westminster Chimes began to sound. The tune was deep and familiar, the song shaking the air and shifting dust.

But then...

The clock struck twelve; chime one.

The mouse blinked. He sat back on his hundred-year-old haunches, and he began to clean his suede ears with his little paws.

Chime two. The stitched-up velvet elephant on top of the clock raised her trunk, opening her mouth to yawn. She was one of the toymaker’s childhood friends, and she kept watch over the cozy empire they’d built together.

Chime three. The wooden horse in the far corner with a ‘Not For Sale’ sign on his saddle began to rock on his curved axis, forward and back, forward and back, his painted mouth pulling into a smile. He was always happy to see his friends again.

Chime four.

Chime five.

Chime six. Nobody woke. The horse kept rocking, the elephant rearranged the clock’s tinsel with her trunk, the mouse scampered down the clock.

Seven.

Eight.

Nine.

Ten. Still nothing.

Eleven— Suddenly the whole shop came to life. All the new toys, weeks or months old, all twitched from sleep or jumped into action at once. The sock rabbits, the plush bears, the carved pandas, the robot. Every single toy soldier raised his bayonet in a simultaneous salute.

Of course, as the toyshop was full of activity now, the twelfth chime came only a single second later, and only a few toys noticed when today’s creations woke up.

The clock quietened at last, the echo of its midnight chimes fading away with a lingering _zinggg_.

Music and squeaks and tapping made a fine ambience in the toyshop, as the dolls set the music boxes to play, the robot turned the record player on, and the soldiers all stepped along their shelf, marching with high kicks and wide-sweeping arms. Hup, hup, hup, hup!

Down came a wicker ladder, loosened by an unseen ninja. Bam! The ladder fell from the wall and made a bridge between the shelves. Hup, hup, hup! The soldiers marched from their shelf to the next, inspecting the store from three feet off the ground.

Another ladder, then another; the shelves became connected, ramps descended, stairs were built by the robot and his ABC blocks. Electric fairy lights flickered on, and now a thousand primary colours twinkled from every corner and edge of the room, draped between high shelves. Over by the rocking horse, a giant Christmas tree lit up too. Every branch was laden with glass baubles, tinsel, fairy lights, and all the grandeur faded out to nothing at the topmost point.

The leather mouse scooted underfoot as the soldiers marched from the shelves to the giant red rug that was spread across the entire shop’s floor, their painted black boots set lightly on the patterns, following the swirls like they were roads.

All around the store, older toys greeted the newcomers, all the things the toymaker had created that very day.

A turquoise teddy bear looked at the plaid pattern on his paws, and his stitched smile seemed just the slightest bit more genuine. A dancing wooden doll was given a twirl by her new clique, all the ladies admiring the pink tutu she wore. A brown dog made out of a sock came bounding through the soldiers’ marching legs, spinning one soldier out of formation. The soldier fell to his knees, dropping his bayonet. The sock dog leapt around him in circles, madly pleased to meet someone’s acquaintance.

Offering the dog a charming grin, the toy soldier lifted his dark blue kepi hat in greeting. He mouthed his name to the dog. _D e a n_.

The sock dog gave Dean’s face a lick with a pink velvet tongue, and Dean toppled backwards, laughing in silence, his eyes crinkled and his hands pushing the dog away.

He came over all serious in a moment, however: another soldier loomed above him, casting a shadow into his face. He pointed at Dean. Then pointed to the other soldiers, who waited with painted frowns between their painted brows.

Dean gave a lopsided smile, patting the dog one last time – then he got to his feet, picking up his bayonet. He gave his fellow soldier a salute, then marched by his side to rejoin the group.

Over by the drawers full of posters, a gaggle of dolls waved to him. Dean grinned and waved back, delighted when they pretended to swoon. But his soldier collective were on the move again, and Dean had to leave the ladies behind.

Onwards!

Every night this little world came alive with hustle and bustle. The mouse, the elephant, and the rocking horse had all seen thousands of toys come and go, but the trio always remained, keeping watch and taking care.

Of course, the soldiers took it upon themselves to do the same, but compared to the more ancient toys, they were simple beings. Easily distracted. Dean, in particular, was the worst.

Whenever he got a chance, he danced with the dolls, an easy grin sloping up towards the bumps of his ears. He let them tug on his military jacket, not enough to loosen the gold rope, but enough to pull him closer. Dean swung from ballerina to nurse to secret agent, adoring the girls’ attention, eager to please.

He was always called away by some other soldier – but every time, he cast a longing look back over his shoulder as he left.

At five to five in the morning, the chaos and clamouring of the workshop began to dim. The mouse ran back up the clock, the elephant put the tinsel back the way she’d found it, and the rocking horse began to slow his movements. Following their lead, the younger toys packed up their things, taking down the towers they’d built, giving their friends a hug, then hurrying back to their places.

The electric fairy lights were unplugged, the debris of wrapping-paper crafts swept from the floorboards and the rugs. The brown sock dog chased heels and trailing skirts and tails, lost and confused, but eventually found the cubby in the bookshelf he’d come from when he woke.

The soldiers marched on, up the building-block stairs, up the wicker ladders, along the shelf.

Dean brought up the rear, casting his attention across the room. A mermaid doll blew a kiss to him from the bookshelf, and he caught the kiss from the air and touched it to his chest, right over his acorn heart. Wearing a smile bigger than any other toy soldier in his collective, he found his place on the shelf, clapped his heels together, held his bayonet straight at his side, and waited for the clock to chime.

Tick.

Tick.

 _Tock_.

The clock struck five.

Chime one. Two. Three. Four. Five.

The toyshop fell silent. The _zinggg_ of the clock chimes faded.

The rocking horse only hobbled with leftover momentum, gradually slowing to a full stop.

The moonlight now slanted from a wholly different angle. Outside, the snow continued to fall, hushing against the window pane at the back of the shop.

During the day, the toyshop was full of human people. Customers came in to browse, and they’d watch the toymaker make magic. The toymaker always sat at a workbench in the centre of the store, where a square area was fenced off so nobody got hit with a hammer or breathed in sawdust.

Every day – especially in the weeks leading up to Christmas – the community of toys changed over rapidly. New toys waited to be adopted by an eager child, or taken home by a guardian with kind intentions. Saying goodbye to toy friends was never needed, as more came along right away, and old friends were undoubtedly happy in their new homes.

In daylight hours while the store was open, and then late into the evening after it closed, the toys waited, their bodies frozen, watching the toymaker create, and create, and create. Tinkering, tapping, the thump-thump-thumping of a hammer. A single acorn, placed inside a miniature wooden vessel—

It always amounted to magic.

By the time the toymaker yawned, stretched, and opened the gate of the central pen to head up to bed, new toys were laid out on a shelf, or displayed in the front window, or stacked in a pile, ready to be sold.

The toymaker turned off the main lights, plunging the room from the lush comfort of red velvet, to a cool, sateen blue. There was the moonlight; there was the snow at the window.

The creak of the stairs let the toys know that midnight approached.

And then, as the clock struck twelve, the place would come alive again.

Chime eleven.

Dean woke, saluting with his bayonet automatically. His fellow soldiers spun on their heels, heading right. Dean turned to march with them, but he soon paused. Across the store, the fairy lights came on, spluttering in reds and greens and golds, then all at once beamed steadily.

There was a new toy, displayed on a single pedestal. Dean had watched the toymaker carve out the shapes, then mold a circle of felt into a hat-shape, and pull a special coat out of a bag. The result was a new figurine, and a marvellous-looking one at that.

The shape of Dean’s painted mouth widened from a thin line, as awe and interest took him over. The new toy was a cowboy.

The cowboy looked at his hands, clenching and unclenching them as he discovered what they did. He raised one foot, then the other, peering at the little spurred boots he wore. He lifted the lapel of his long brown coat, and he smiled.

Dean stared. He felt something funny inside him, swirling around his acorn core. He smiled too, rather dazed. _Oh, boy,_ he thought. _A real cowboy!_

He startled as he felt a tap-tap on his arm.

Oh – it was only Sam. He had his bayonet slung over his shoulder, a concerned look on his face. He spread his wooden hands and shrugged in a _Hey, what gives?_ kind of way.

Dean turned his face back to the cowboy, unwittingly giving his answer. He felt two pink circles appear on his cheeks, and he looked away quickly.

Sam bobbed on his heels, giving Dean a curious smile. He patted Dean’s side, and when Dean glanced his way, Sam gave him an encouraging shove.

Dean screwed up his face. _What?_

Sam nudged him again, then poked his elbow in the cowboy’s direction. _Go on!_

Dean blanched, realising Sam meant for him to go say hi. That pink blush only grew, and Dean bowed his head and shook it.

Sam rolled his eyes, pressing his mouth into an unimpressed line. He spun around, ready to march away, but he waited for Dean.

Dean hesitated. Unable to help himself, he peered across the shop one more time, wanting to see the cowboy again. There he was, all alone on his plinth. He looked around, probably wondering how he was supposed to get down. And then – with no warning whatsoever – his eyes locked on Dean’s.

Dean felt _chills_. He didn’t know why, or where they came from, but he found himself grinning at the thrill of it.

The cowboy fidgeted unsurely, then lifted a hand. He didn’t wave it, but it was a clear greeting nonetheless.

Grinning even more lopsidedly than before, Dean waved back.

He stood, mesmerised, as the cowboy then took a lasso from his belt and swung it around and around his head, and then – whoop! – tossed the looped end towards a nearby shelf. With a jump and a swoosh of his long coat, he was gone from view.

Dean’s acorn heart was thoroughly atremble.

Even when Sam poked him in the side, Dean only swayed. Sam properly _jabbed_ him, and at last, Dean came to his senses. Sam looked curiously towards the cowboy’s plinth, and saw he was gone. With a careless shrug, Sam led Dean away, marching. Marching. Marching on all night.

Well, not _all_ night.

At about two-thirty, the dolls threw a party, inviting everyone in the toyshop, from the velvet elephant to the robot to the miniature frogs. All the soldiers decided to attend, much to Dean’s delight.

As the dancers spread out across the rug, the crowd mimed the words to everyone’s favourite Christmas songs. For a whole hour, Dean was allowed to dance and jive and swing from girl to girl, stroking his hand through their pretty coloured hair, or watching as their skirts twirled. He bowed to a princess doll, and held the hand of a gardener doll. He danced, and danced, and applauded smugly when Sam danced too.

Dean was just in the middle of a waltz with a mermaid, when he caught sight of something looming above.

Or some _one_ , to be more precise.

All the way up there, standing on top of the antique map drawers that housed all the decorative posters, a figure with a cowboy hat watched the festivities with thoughtful eyes.

The mermaid patted Dean’s arm, reminding him he was supposed to be dancing.

Dean gave her a quick smile, but had to apologise, dancing her over to the elephant, and letting her sit up top. She reached for him, but Dean was lost in the crowd already, swallowed up by dresses and feathers and the great galumphing paws of an excited teddy bear.

There was so much going on, nobody noticed as Dean began to climb the poster drawers. He set his feet into the brass tabs, using them as rungs as he clambered his way up.

He reached the top, and climbed over the edge, crawling onto the wooden surface. He looked around, but the cowboy was nowhere to be seen.

Cautiously walking forward, Dean trailed his hands over rolls of wrapping paper, loose curls of ribbon, avoiding the jagged edge of the sticky tape roller. Peering around the paper roll, he saw—

He shot back behind cover, heart quaking inside him.

The cowboy was _there_. Sitting. Looking out at the snow.

Dean’s knee-joints went weak. His eyes rose to the dark beams of the ceiling, wondering to himself why he felt so funny. He’d never felt so unsure of himself.

Miming a gulp, he stood straight, taking hold of his jacket and tugging it tidy. He reached up and adjusted his hat so the black rim jutted out perfectly over his forehead, and the chin-strap was comfortable against his throat. He pretended to take a deep breath... and...

He covered his face with both hands. He was blushing again. Oh, no. Oh _no_.

He couldn’t go over there without an excuse. Maybe if he made something...

Kneeling down, Dean reached for some glossy red gift wrap and tore off a corner. He folded it, twisted it, then took some green paper and made a stick. He jammed them together.

Well... okay. That would have to do.

His mouth narrowed to a single dot as he steeled himself again.

Gingerly, Dean slunk out from behind the wrapping paper, and approached the cowboy by the window. The cowboy had taken a seat on a resin decoration, which was painted to look like a log. His long coat splayed out at his sides, and his hands fiddled with the loose waist tie.

Dean made his way to the side of the log. The cowboy was too enthralled by the falling snow and didn’t notice him, so Dean got closer.

Then he sat down.

The cowboy turned his head, mouth opening in surprise. He blinked his blue eyes, and Dean felt like he was _melting_. Which was weird, ‘cause wood didn’t often melt.

With a nervous smile, Dean offered the cowboy his paper rose, stuck out with a forceful fist.

The cowboy looked at the offer, and accepted it with two gentle hands. He peered at its swirling shape and awkward green leaf, and then looked at Dean. He smiled. “ _Thank you,_ ” he mouthed, before lifting the brim of his hat between his thumb and other fingers.

Dean just smiled, wider and wider – and then _grinned_ , ducking his head. His kepi hat fell off and tumbled onto his lap, and Dean grabbed it right away, trying to put it back on.

But the cowboy stilled him, tilting his head. Oh, his eyes were so _pretty_. Such a nice blue.

Standing up, the cowboy took Dean’s hat, holding it in both hands, also holding the rose in one. He moved around the log, inviting Dean up with another tilt of his head. Dean followed.

The cowboy nudged up close to Dean’s side, so close that Dean got flustered. But the cowboy turned his eyes to the expansive toyshop before them, his gaze high. All around the room, in certain places on the wall, there were posters displayed. The longest poster of all was an alphabet, starting from A on the left, with a picture of an apple, all the way to Z on the right, with a zebra. The cowboy lifted a hand and pointed to the C, where there was a simple cartoon picture of a fluffy tabby cat.

Dean blinked quickly, not sure what was happening.

The cowboy pointed at the letter A. Then S.

Dean became more alert as he realised. “ _Oh!_ ” he mouthed, nodding.

T, I, E... L.

Dean felt the shape of the name in his mouth as he put it all together. “ _Castiel._ ”

Castiel nodded, pointing at himself.

Dean smiled. What a good name for a cowboy.

Castiel pointed at Dean’s heart, then opened his hand questioningly.

Dean pointed at the letters that spelled his name.

Castiel’s eyes focused on nothing as he spoke the name in silence. “ _Dean._ ”

Dean tried so damn hard not to blush. Thankfully he didn’t.

Now Castiel offered Dean his hat back. But Dean didn’t take it – instead he did something incredibly bold, which sent tingles of excitement all the way down to the soles of his black marching boots. He reached out, and took Castiel’s cowboy hat off.

Castiel’s wooden hair was carved in a similar way to Dean’s, but where Dean’s was spiked up towards one side, Castiel’s was neatly side-parted, but then seemed a little dishevelled too. Dean’s heart again rushed with feeling; he didn’t think he’d ever seen another figure so handsome.

Dean placed Castiel’s cowboy hat on his own head. He knew he was blushing now, but he couldn’t help it, and he didn’t care. He’d existed for three whole weeks and he’d fantasised about being a cowboy almost the whole time. It was different to being a soldier. More swishy, less marchy.

Curious, Castiel lifted Dean’s kepi to his own head, and put it on, chin-strap set in place. Dean and Castiel looked at each other, amused by the change.

Castiel bent his knees, turning to look at the window. The glass was frosty, so he approached and wiped it with the arm of his coat. His eyes brightened, and he hurriedly reached for Dean’s sleeve, bringing him close, making him look at his reflection.

There they were, smiling back at themselves in the glass. Dean had never felt so handsome. And Castiel—? Even without the cowboy hat, he was intriguing. So much so that Dean could barely take his eyes off his new friend.

A bolt of delight stole through Dean as he realised what he’d done.

He’d made a friend.

With a happy skip, Dean went to sit on the log, hands on his outstretched knees. Castiel moved to join him, shoulder-to-shoulder. At first, they glanced at each other, grinning, laughing unsurely, but then, as the snow flurried against the glass, and fell away in a clump, they saw the dark garden beyond, glowing with indigo light on the snow. They saw their reflections again in the dark parts. And Dean took off the cowboy hat, offering it back to Castiel. Castiel returned Dean’s hat too, and they put their costumes back in place with confidence.

They gazed at each other, each pleased to have shared that experience.

Behind them, the toyshop party went on. Dean and Castiel could have turned to watch, or they could have climbed down and joined in. But instead they went on watching the snow fall, happily lost together in another world.


	2. Stuffing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a teddy bear is in GREAT NEED.

During the day, the toys waited. They waited for midnight. In the meantime they were frozen in place, unable to move, or communicate with their friends. But they were not quite asleep. They could watch whatever transpired before them, content to see what was going on even though they couldn’t respond. This was what they looked forward to, after all; the children in their new home would play with them during the day, and they wouldn’t interact – not with each other, and not with their human playmate.

As customers entered the toyshop, they leaned on the barrier around the toymaker’s workbench. Adults lifted their children so they could see better, holding them atop shoulders, or letting them stand on the footwell of a sibling’s wheeled stroller.

Buzzing and tapping and the occasional clank of the sewing box emerged from heart of the crowd. Sometimes there was even a puff of steam, as the iron flattened out some fabric.

Like the customers, the enchanted toys in the shop enjoyed watching the toymaker work. But the toys couldn’t always see over people’s heads. Sometimes whatever the toymaker created would remain a mystery until the store closed at the end of the day.

Late in the evening, they finally spied five new teddy bears, sitting lined up at the edge of the workbench. Each bear was made of a different colour velvet, with plaid on their paws, and a fun patch in a corresponding colour, sewn in a random place for that charming handmade appeal.

The toymaker yawned, rubbing at tired eyes, then slowly putting away the needle and thread. Time for bed.

One by one, the lights in the toyshop went out. The Christmas tree went dark. The fairy lights around the room were unplugged. The robot was set to charge, as he’d been demonstrating his block-stacking programming to customers all day.

The toymaker plodded from the workshop. A hefty silhouette pooled across the rugs, shrinking away as the toymaker headed up the stairs to bed. The stairs creaked once, twice... thrice – then went silent.

Dark.

Quiet.

Snow settled on the windowsill outside.

An hour later, the clock struck twelve. Twelve chimes. Twelve ages of toys awakened.

Lights! Movement! The leather mouse skimmed across the floor! Toy soldiers began their rounds – hup, hup, hup! The robot blinked his glowing eyes awake, and began building stairs without leaving his charging socket. The velvet elephant on top of the grandfather clock waved her trunk, saying hello to the rocking horse.

The ladders came down, bridging the shelves, just the same as every night.

But this time, Dean did not cross the third bridge with the others. He grabbed his brother, Sam, yanking him back as the others marched ahead.

Sam looked bothered, until Dean pointed to the middle of the shop with urgency.

There, on the workbench in the centre of the toyshop, five teddy bears looked at their paws, then smiled to each other, reaching to pet each other’s ears. There was a purple one, a red one, an orange one, a yellow one, a green one...

The blue one lay lifeless on the desk. Button eyes stared soullessly towards the ceiling, not seeing the pretty lights that twinkled up between the wooden beams.

Sam was immediately horrified. He looked around for the other soldiers, but they were all gone.

Dean patted Sam’s chest, giving him a determined look. With a firm hand, he showed his intention: they were going to get over there themselves.

But first— Sound the alarm!

Dean set down his bayonet, and leapt from the shelf, his bowed legs bent— He hit the rug and rolled head over heels, tumbling until he hit the divider between the shop and the toymaker’s desk. Sam came after him, recovering faster. He held out a hand and helped Dean to his feet.

Dean ran over to the robot, tapping him on the shoulder.

The robot beeped in surprise, then turned, his square eyes flashing with yellow pixels as he blinked. The screen on his chest showed up with a single symbol: [  **?**  ]

Dean pointed towards the toymaker’s pen. With both hands, he made round bear-ears beside his head, then placed his palms together and rested his cheek against the back of one hand, closing his eyes like he was asleep. When he opened his eyes and relaxed his hands, the robot had a [  **!**  ] on his screen. Dean nodded, and the robot knew exactly what to do.

He unplugged himself, and climbed up the stairs he’d built. He stood at the top, and began to bleep an alarm call. It was loud enough to interrupt all the music, not loud enough that everyone heard. But all around, toys began to notice. A sad-looking sock squirrel chirruped, skittering down the edge of a bookcase, looking across the shop. The ninja ballerina who usually moved the wicker ladders saw where the robot pointed, and she redirected a ladder immediately.

Dean hurried up to the pen, where Sam had already placed a ladder. Sam held the bottom of the ladder as Dean climbed.

Once Dean was at the top, he looked down, and smiled as he saw Castiel had taken Sam’s place, holding the ladder secure as Sam clambered up to join Dean.

Walking with their arms out to keep their balance, Dean and Sam followed the top rim of the wooden pen. They could see the desk in the middle, where the colourful teddies were gathered, worrying for their friend.

The ninja ballerina swooped down, slapping a ladder across between the top of the barrier and the desk, parallel with the floor. Oh, gosh, this was so high up for a little toy. With a wave of thanks to the ninja, Dean secured the ladder while Sam got down on all fours, climbing across to the desk.

Dean felt his heart flip in his chest as Castiel came along, the first to arrive to help. Now he held the ladder as Dean climbed across.

At the end, Sam and Dean both anchored the ladder as Castiel followed after them. Dean offered Castiel a guiding hand when he got close, and Castiel accepted graciously, lifting his cowboy hat in thanks once his boots touched solid wood.

The teddies had all become more upset as the minutes had worn on. The further they got from their first moments of existence, they grew aware of their surroundings, and understood more about what was going on. They could see how they were all the same, but one was different – and not in a good way.

Dean stood with his hands on his hips, looking down in concern at the blue teddy.

Sam scratched the top of his kepi hat like he was thinking.

But Castiel knelt down, cradling the teddy’s head in his hands. Something was terribly wrong. _All_ new toys woke up on the twelfth stroke of midnight. They turned from lumps of soft fabric to soft-hearted beings with thoughts, feelings, and a remarkable level of intelligence. That was how it worked. Why was this teddy still... cloth?

Now the crowds were arriving. The toys moved to comfort the other teddies, offering hugs and handkerchief blankets. So many concerned gazes settled on the blue teddy bear. Silent exchanges passed between dolls and plush animals, all wondering what could be done.

Sam raised a hand like he might know. He waved an arm to the velvet elephant, who remained high up on her clockwork perch. The elephant waved back.

Sam set his palms together, then opened them up like the pages of a book. He then spread his arms in questioning.

The elephant pointed her trunk to the desk, then again, lower.

Sam pointed downward, asking.

The elephant nodded her trunk in big movements so Sam could see.

Sam batted Dean’s side. Dean was already on it, reaching to touch Castiel’s shoulders.

When Castiel looked up at Dean with sad, tearful blue eyes, Dean had to set aside his heartache for the sake of the mission. He pointed to Castiel’s lasso.

Castiel stood up, handing Dean the lasso. Dean smiled in thanks, then followed Sam to the edge of the workbench. The crowd parted around him, watching to see what he would do.

Dean swung the lasso the way he’d seen Castiel do. He let it swoop down, catching on the corner of a shelf inside the desk. Confident it was secure, Dean held the end of the rope, tight, and his brother began to climb down.

Dean dared not look over the edge. He never liked climbing as high as the desk; he was a second-shelf soldier. High shelves were for the sock squirrel and the ninja ballerina, not for Dean.

Suddenly – a tug on the rope! Sam wanted to be pulled up.

Elbowing Castiel to ask for help, Dean began to _heave_.

Heave!

_H e a v e !_

Sam popped up, taking the paw of a helpful teddy bear and the arm of a patchwork octopus. He got to his feet, smiling: he had a piece of well-folded paper tied to him with the end of the lasso.

He untied himself, then spread the giant paper out onto the desk, all the corners smoothed down by helpful toys.

Sam stood on the paper, pointing. It was a sketchbook diagram, inked onto old, old paper. It wasn’t torn; Sam must’ve taken it from a folder or a stack.

Dean waggled a hand excitedly at the picture on the paper. A teddy bear! There were measurements for the cloth, and shapes detailing the right way to cut the velvet.

Castiel returned to the blue teddy bear, cradling its head on his lap. Its head and limbs were the only parts of it that seemed complete: the rest of it was thin and saggy, not fattened up like its bear counterparts.

Dean was certain: if they could figure out what was missing, they could find a way to make the teddy come to life. If only they knew what was wrong...

Castiel brightened, sitting up straight. He slapped a hand down onto the paper, looking up at Dean and Sam in alarm. He tapped the paper over and over, pointing at one part.

Dean crawled onto his hands and knees, looking carefully.

_Don’t forget the **s t u f f i n g**! Your bear needs lots and lots of filler to be huggable. A saggy bear simply will not do._

Dean stood up, determined. Stuffing! They could get stuffing, right? He looked around at the other toys. Where did the toymaker keep the stuffing?

A giraffe pushed through the crowd, easing a see-through tub across the desk using her forehead. She peered out from behind the tub, shaking her head forlornly.

On the tub was a label that said **FILLER**. Inside was just the smallest scrap of white fluff.

Oh. The toymaker had run out of stuffing. _That_ was why the bear wasn’t finished.

Determined not to let this be the end of things, Dean thumped a fist into his palm. He would _find_ something to use as stuffing. Before the end of the night, in fact, or he was no longer worthy of being a soldier.

Dean took Castiel by the arm, drawing his attention. Castiel saw the fierce resolve in Dean’s eyes, and seemed to be in immediate understanding; he nodded firmly, taking his lasso from the desk and rolling it into a neat coil.

He left the bear and the crowd behind. He took Dean’s hand and led him to the edge of the desk, watched the whole way by the teddies and the dolls, as well as Sam. Around and around Castiel swung his rope, until it looped up over a low-hanging chain of Christmas lights. Then, with total ease, he wrapped an arm around Dean’s waist – _Wait, what?_ – hugged him close – _Cas, what are you doing?_ – and jumped primly off the side of the desk.

If Dean were able to make any noise, he’d bellow like a— Yell like a...

Okay, no, he’d be screaming, like a terrified, terrified toy soldier. Dean clung to Castiel for dear life while they slid down from the desk, travelling with the lasso as it slid along the string of lights. Each bulb the lasso hit knocked them unsteady, and the ride down was so bumpy that Dean felt as if he was thrown about like salt in a shaker. They passed the edge of the toymaker’s pen with a whoosh. Far below, crowds of toys waited for news of the teddy bear, and they pointed upward, awed by the sight: a cowboy and a toy soldier, flying across the room.

Dean sobbed, shutting his eyes and hiding his face against Castiel’s brown coat. Thank goodness Castiel’s grip was so strong.

Paff-paff...

Dean’s boots touched down to the rug. He kept hold of Castiel in case it was a trick, wasn’t real...

He peeked open his eyes, just to check... Castiel was grinning, his painted eyes bright with amusement. Dean looked around. They were safe on the floor.

Dean almost collapsed in relief – but there wasn’t time, Castiel took his hand and pulled him along.

Quick! They needed stuffing! A bear was in great need!

They ran from corner to corner, cubbyhole to bookshelf, looking for something fluffy and soft.

Dean led Castiel to the poster drawers, pointing up to where they’d first met. There was wrapping paper up there, poking out off the side.

Gift wrap stuffing?

Castiel considered it, but then shook his head. Too pokey. Too crunchy.

He led Dean to the foot of the grandfather clock, where the robot now waited, still telling other toys about the teddy bear who didn’t wake up. Paying the toys no mind, Castiel pointed up to the velvet elephant and her tinsel nest.

Tinsel stuffing?

Dean wondered if that might work. But he shook his head. Too crinkly. And too loud!

So what, then? Castiel still looked worried as they made their way all across the toyshop, on the hunt for something else. What could they use?

Seeing some dolls he recognised, Dean slowed down to look. He wore a silly smile, lifting a hand to wave. He turned to Castiel, wondering – maybe the dolls could help?

But Castiel was wary. The dolls were setting up to have a tea party, and... Castiel shook his head. They were too busy to help.

Dean tugged Castiel’s sleeve. _C’mon!_ They were nice dolls.

Castiel shook his head more forcefully, pulling in the other direction. They could find someone else to help, it was okay...

Unsure what the problem was, Dean stood still and frowned. The mermaid doll had spotted them by now, and she fluffed her long red hair and adjusted her seashell clothes, climbing aboard a plush camel so she could go and say hello.

But as the camel approached, so did ten other dolls, and they seemed to be carrying their tea cups and pillows with them. Dean wanted to say hi, but he didn’t have time for a tea party!

This way! Castiel grabbed Dean’s hand and rushed towards the darkest corner of the toyshop. The lights didn’t twinkle here.

Dean knew this place. The toymaker’s staircase. The light didn’t reach this far. This was the corner of the shop where no toy was allowed to go.

The dolls stopped their advance, too afraid to enter the shadows.

Dean felt his acorn heart shaking in his chest. Castiel was such a strange toy. How could he be afraid of girls but not of the dark? Even so, Dean found his company thrilling. Here they were, at the foot of a mighty staircase. Nowhere to go but up.

And Castiel knelt down, offering Dean his hands to lift him up the first stair.

With an excited grin, Dean accepted. The other soldiers would never.

They climbed the stairs, one at a time. Dean lifted Castiel, then Castiel lifted Dean. Up and up and up they went. Further into the dark.

Soon they’d climbed so high that the tinkles of the music boxes and the clatter of the toy train rounding its track no longer reached them. It was quiet up here.

Dean and Castiel climbed the final stair.

This was the toymaker’s world. They had to be very quiet or they’d be discovered.

Tiptoeing in big, careful steps, the soldier and the cowboy made their way to the first doorway they found.

In here? Dean looked at Castiel unsurely.

Castiel was far bolder. He nodded once. In here.

They crept in, pushing the door open by a single inch. They scooted into the room. Moonlight made a great silver square on the floorboards, highlighting an odd-looking mound covered in fur. It made a gruff, scraping noise.

Dean tugged on Castiel’s coat in horror. A beast! A sleeping beast!

Castiel set his wooden hand to the dot of his mouth. _Shhh._

Dean nodded. Together they crept closer.

Castiel was on the lookout for stuffing. He found some dust, but that wasn’t any good. He found some fur from the beast, but that wasn’t good either.

What about this?

Dean pointed to something white that hung limply from a chest of drawers, only inches up from the floor. Castiel approached, giving it a poke.

Soft!

Soft? Dean poked it too. Ah, _soft_.

Perfect.

Now they just had to get it out.

They each grabbed some of the soft thing, and pulled. It stretched, letting Dean and Castiel sink lower on their knees, but it didn’t fall out of the drawer.

Ready? On three.

One. Two.

Three!

Heave!

_H e a v e !_

Pop! The soft thing flopped out, landing on top of Dean and Castiel as they collapsed to the floor. It was a sock. Yes! Dean raised his hand for a congratulatory high-five. Castiel beamed, and moved to slap Dean’s hand – but his expression changed to one of terror. He took the sock and he took Dean’s hand, standing up on shaking legs.

Dean looked over his shoulder, and his acorn double-flipped inside him.

The beast stretched its clawed front paws across the floor, its back sloping, its back legs making mountains. Its long black tail swept along, trailing fur as the beast slowly... plodded... closer.

Dean and Castiel were frozen in fear. Their hands were locked together, each holding the sock.

This had to be a cat, Dean thought. Whiskers... a pink heart-shaped nose. Slitted green eyes. There was a metal circle at its throat that read _Sir Snoozalot_.

The cat sniff-sniff-sniffed at Dean and Castiel, and they both closed their eyes, waiting for the end.

The cat _yawned_ on them. It blinked, then turned around and plodded away. It sat in its moonlight pool, and began to lick a front paw.

Sagging in relief, Dean and Castiel shared a grin, then bolted from the room in quick steps. They fled the hallway, barely stopping at the top of the stairs. Castiel grabbed Dean by the waist again – and this time, Dean just went with it, trusting Castiel to guide them down unharmed. Castiel took them to the wide border on the left of the staircase, and they sat on the sock like a sled. Castiel made sure Dean was tucked in safe behind him, holding tight, and then—!

They whooshed down along the side of the stairs, smoothly and swiftly, air rushing in their faces. Dean laughed rather than screamed, totally exhilarated. They fell into a pile at the bottom, and Dean still laughed, rolling onto his back, eyes closed as his body slowly un-dizzied itself.

Castiel helped him to his feet.

It was the work of a few minutes, climbing back to the toymaker’s workbench where Sam and the others still waited. Together, Dean and Castiel presented their marvellous find: a sock! A white sock! A _soft_ sock!

The sock made perfect stuffing.

Sam sewed up the final blue stitch in the teddy bear’s back, and with great pride and anticipation, all the toys waited for the teddy to wake.

But... nothing happened.

Dean looked at Castiel in despair. What did they do wrong? Why didn’t it work?

Castiel looked down at his chest, touching his hand to his heart. He looked up at Dean, uncertain.

Dean raised his eyebrows. Maybe Cas was onto something...?

The bear needed an acorn.

Somebody find an acorn! Dean made the shape in the air: a heart with a beret for a hat. There had to be one around here somewhere.

The giraffe who’d found the stuffing tub came forward, pushing a jar of acorns. She looked very pleased with herself.

Sam unpicked half the bear’s stitches, and with Castiel’s gentle hands to help, they placed one acorn deep inside the bear, secured by more sock stuffing on all sides. Soon the bear was stitched up again, good as new.

Everyone waited. Surely everything was right now. Surely it would work.

Tick. Tock.

Tick. Tock.

Tick—

The blue bear wriggled her nose.

All around, the toys went wild with delight, arms up, jumping for joy. Dean’s face split into a wide grin, and he reached to high-five his brother, then slung his arm around Castiel’s shoulders. They’d done it.

The blue bear sat up, embraced by her rainbow sisters. She smiled, patting her chest, wiggling her plaid paws, kicking her fat legs. She existed! And she was overjoyed!

Castiel knelt before their youngest friend, touching his heart. “ _Welcome_ ,” he mouthed. “ _My name is Castiel. What’s yours?_ ”

The bear seemed confused for a moment. But she soon got her _bear_ ings – so to speak. She looked around, spying the instruction paper spread out under her. She stood up on strong legs, and pottered around for a moment.

Then she began to point to letters.

D... O...

All the toys mouthed as one, learning her name as she spelled it.

N... N... A.

With a silent cheer, the family welcomed Donna the teddy bear with immense warmth and love, wrapping her in a group hug. Dean and Castiel and Sam squeezed in too, smiling so much that painted lines appeared by their eyes.

In all the madness, Dean and Castiel caught each other’s gaze. They shared a warm smile. A happy smile.

Job well done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think so far, I'd love to know ♥


	3. Sock Pair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which socks come in twos (and there's only ONE).

Hup! Hup! Hup! The soldiers made their midnight rounds, just like every night. One shelf to the next, to the rug, then back again.

Hup, hup, hup...

Dean began to dawdle. The poster drawers were right _there_... Maybe Cas would be sitting at the top.

Checking quickly to see if any other soldiers would notice, Dean darted away from the collection, hiding behind a book, bayonet up straight by his tense shoulders.

He blinked a few times, then peered out past the book. Sam and the others had gone on their merry way, none the wiser. With a mirthful grin, Dean snuck along the shelf... then began to walk – then outright scampered.

With one big _leap_ he landed on top of the poster drawers, almost knocking the gift wrap. A fast hand kept it from tumbling away.

Dean came to the frosted window, delighted to see his friend Castiel sitting on his resin log. But tonight, he wasn’t watching the snow. Instead, he bent towards the rest of the store, folded over his thighs, one hand out to a red plushie squirrel. She silently chattered away at his feet, her well-stuffed tail twitching about. Dean wasn’t an expert on squirrels, but frankly, this squirrel didn’t seem very happy to him.

Dean gave a one-handed wave, grinning widely when Castiel noticed him and smiled. Castiel beckoned, and Dean approached.

The red squirrel fretted, unsure about Dean.

Calmly, Castiel got up from his log, taking Dean’s hand. Dean began to blush, wondering if he was _ready_ to hold hands. It was so soon – everything was moving so quickly—

Dean relaxed when he realised: Castiel had pulled him down so the squirrel could examine his hand, mimicking a sniffy-sniffy-sniff-sniff like a real squirrel. She had tiny black cloth buttons for eyes, a stitched V for a nose, and she was obviously made out of a small child’s sock: the darker toe made up her face, and the heel made up her tummy. Her crooked, bushy tail was all the long ankle part.

When the squirrel seemed more settled, Dean straightened up, throwing Castiel an inquisitive look.

Castiel’s response was a grim smile.

Now Dean was worried. “ _What?_ ” he asked.

Castiel turned around, walking around the log to get to the window. Dean went after him, expecting to be shown something outside – but Castiel didn’t use his coat to wipe off the frost from the window. Instead, he set the tip of one wooden hand on the glass, and began to draw.

He drew an upright rectangle with a long blobby end sticking out from one side, the toe and the heel each separated with a curved line. A sock!

He then drew an arrow pointing right.

Thirdly... slowly, another shape emerged. A round body, two little paws, a big curved tail... round ears, and a V for a nose. The squirrel.

The diagram was simple: A sock became a squirrel. Dean nodded.

Castiel held up his hand in a _just one moment_ kind of way.

Below the first, he drew another sock. Another arrow. And then a question mark.

Dean opened his mouth in realisation, and he turned a sorrowful look towards the expectant squirrel, who bounced slowly at their feet, looking between them, back and forth.

Socks came in pairs, right? So... where was this squirrel’s pair?

Dean nodded, understanding the problem. Castiel raised his eyebrows, cocking his head to one side. Dean crouched down so he was only a little bit taller than the squirrel, and he gave her a bold salute. He and Cas would find that other sock, it was their mission now.

Standing tall, Dean gave Castiel a light bat against his chest with a hand. They shared a smile. And off they went.

The squirrel chased after them, hurrying ahead, sniffing the air, then hurrying back to circle around their boots as they walked.

They didn’t get far at all before they were stopped in their tracks by Sam, who looked very cross indeed. He stared at Dean.

But Dean was not about to fall back in line with the other toy soldiers; he had a more important job now! He gestured to the squirrel with the butt of his bayonet, then jabbed his toy weapon up at the alphabet around the room. Sam looked wary, but saw Dean pointed to the S.

S for sock.

Dean held up two fingers.

Pointed at the squirrel. He put down one finger. Then shrugged in a worried way.

Sam understood. He nodded gently, giving the red sock squirrel a reassuring smile. He patted his heart twice, and then stood behind Dean and Castiel, waiting for them to lead the way.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw a dark flash... Something _scurrying_...

Nah. Probably nothing. Dean gave Castiel a pleased smile, and they journeyed on.

As a foursome, they jumped and hopped down the building block steps, descending the alphabet in reverse. At the bottom of the staircase, they found the robot, busy organising his blocks to make another staircase.

Castiel tipped his cowboy hat towards the robot, smiling when the robot’s front screen then read [  **H E L L O**  ].

As quickly and efficiently as Dean had explained to Sam, Castiel explained the situation to the robot. The robot’s screen flickered, glitched, then a [  **!**  ] appeared. Unplugging his charger and leaving his post, the robot shiff-shiff-shifted on his mechanical legs across the rug, leading the troupe towards a bookcase. Exchanging curious glances, they followed, the nervous squirrel bringing up the rear.

The robot led them into an empty cubby – only it wasn’t empty! A little nest had been formed out of tinsel, and inside the nest...

A sock dog with a lolling pink tongue lifted his head, suddenly filled with unbridled excitement! He leapt from his nest and bounded around the visitors, trotting and jumping, chasing the squirrel up the shelf. The dog couldn’t follow, so waited on the rug, yapping his mouth open and shut as if he was barking.

Dean pulled back his kepi hat, staring up at the shelf. The squirrel had hidden in another cubby, peeking out with terrified button eyes.

With a frustrated frown, Castiel shook his head at the robot.

The robot’s screen flashed up a pixel drawing of a sock, then one of a dog.

Castiel shook his head again. He looked around, then spotted something. He took the robot’s arm, pulling him to the bookshelf. He pointed at a book.

At first Dean didn’t know what he meant, but then Castiel pointed at a red book, and Dean got it.

The dog was brown. The squirrel was _red_. Sock pairs were the same colour, so these two couldn’t be a pair!

The robot’s screen only showed one big [  **?**  ].

Sam shooed the dog back into its tinsel nest, beckoning to the squirrel. Hesitantly, the squirrel came down a little way. Castiel opened his arms wide, and the squirrel came down a bit more.

All of a sudden the robot bleeped loudly – [  **!!!**  ] – and the squirrel _shot_ back up five levels, hiding near the top of the bookcase.

Apologetically, the robot beeped again. But Castiel smiled, reaching to pat his shoulder. At least he understood now.

After some cajoling, the squirrel agreed to come down, so long as Castiel held her safe in his arms. Dean smiled to himself, eyes on the little red plushie as Castiel cradled her to his chest, the group carrying on their quest. The robot followed, determined to help.

For the second time, Dean turned his head, frowning at a swift shadow. But there was nothing to be seen, besides a hundred scattered toys going about their business, amongst Christmas lights, the music box, and the rocking horse slowly rumbling on his axis. Dean carried on, putting the distraction out of his mind.

They came to a wicker ladder, but decided not to climb, because the robot wouldn’t be able to. So they went on, unsure where to go next.

Then— Blam! An elegant dark shape slammed to the rug in front of them, long robes splayed out, the newcomer’s face shrouded in shadow. Two oddly-shaped, gleaming eyes peered out from inside the black hood, glaring right at Dean...

A dainty hand lifted to pull back the hood...

A smiling face peered out. She wore square black-rimmed glasses, and her red hair was tied up in a messy bun atop her head. She waved, then gave a happy jump.

The frightened squirrel was immediately un-frightened, leaving Castiel’s arms to approach an old friend. The ninja ballerina welcomed the squirrel, giving her a big squishy hug, then booping her stitched nose with a light touch.

Perplexed, Dean offered an awkward smile. The ninja ballerina winked at him, then approached to straighten his hat. Dean blinked a few times, his attention following the doll in awe.

The robot bleeped a greeting, and the ninja ballerina gave him a friendly pat on the head, as his screen lit up, reading [  **H E L L O _ C H A R L I E**  ].

Dean grinned. In all his weeks living in the toymaker’s shop, he’d admired the ninja ballerina’s work, shifting ladders between shelves every night, but he’d never known anyone who called her by name. Now he knew. _Charlie_.

Charlie looked between the toys before her, wondering what they were all doing.

Saving everyone else the trouble, the robot explained the mission with simple drawings on his screen.

Sock... squirrel.

Sock... [  **?**  ].

Charlie gasped. Now she looked terribly, terribly worried, one hand over her mouth, eyes shifting. She leaned in close to Dean, stretching out one of her cloaked arms, pointing all the way across the shop, to where the plushie animals sat around, having a tea party.

Dean, Castiel, Sam, the robot and the squirrel all followed Charlie’s determined strut, making a diagonal path straight across the rug. Rolling up her sleeves, Charlie approached one corner of the plushie zoo, where the blue velvet teddy bear named Donna sat happily, pretending to sip tea with her giraffe friend.

Once Donna noticed they had company, she stood up, arms wide, delighted to see the toys who’d helped her out only a few nights ago. But Charlie didn’t smile, only turned guilty eyes to Dean, Sam, and Castiel.

Castiel suddenly became aghast, and blue circles appeared on his cheeks as true horror overtook him. What if they’d used the squirrel’s sock partner to help Donna? Oh _no_...

Dean immediately scoffed. Ugh, please!

The others looked at him anxiously. Dean rolled his eyes. He set one hand on the squirrel’s back. _Red_. He touched Donna, then gently spun her around and showed them where Sam’s imperfect stitches let the stuffing show through. _White_.

Rolling his eyes again, Dean rotated Donna back around, giving her an affirming arm pat. Nothin’ to worry about, buddy.

Charlie wiped her forehead in relief. Castiel had to take his hat off and waft it at his face before the rosy colour returned to his cheeks.

Sam had already wandered off, looking around. He paused by the tiny toy table that Donna and the giraffe had been using to share tea, and there he cupped his hand around his chin, looking studious.

Dean followed his brother, wondering what he’d found.

On the plastic plates were knitted foods. A radish, a carrot, a cake, and a lettuce. Sam looked at Dean thoughtfully.

Dean looked at the shade of red that the squirrel wore proudly. Then he looked at the knitted food. Purple, orange, beige, and green. No red at all. Dean shook his head firmly.

The robot’s screen flashed with yet another [  **?**  ] followed by a sad, frowny face. [  **:(**  ]

Dean raised a hand to rub the back of his neck. He looked around at his friends, from the robot, to Sam, to Donna and the giraffe, then Charlie and her squirrel, then, lastly, to Castiel. Castiel gazed back with a calm intensity, and yes, perhaps some sadness.

Where could the squirrel’s sock pair be? _All_ socks had a pair, somewhere. Surely there was a special knitted red friend out there.

Dean looked up, and saw two plastic birds clipped onto the Christmas lights, tweeting to each other. One was blue, and one was green, but they matched.

Over in the music box, a figure in a top hat danced with a figure in a white dress. They weren’t quite the same, but they were clearly meant to be together.

Even up there on a table, on the train tracks, the choo-choo train had another train friend, and they kept each other company, chugging around in circles and criss-crosses all night.

Maybe...

Maybe _one_ was a special number. Just by itself. Dean gave the squirrel an unsure smile. Perhaps this squirrel was the most special sock squirrel who ever existed. She could be unique – and look! She still had friends! She didn’t _need_ a partner, did she?

But Dean knew that if _that_ were true, the squirrel wouldn’t look so darned _sad_. Her little stitched smile was starting to look like an ‘n’.

Filling up with a furious determination, Dean punched a fist into his hand. They were going to _find_ that other red sock. Before the end of the night, in fact, or Dean was no longer worthy of being a soldier.

Where hadn’t they looked? Where did socks live?

With a ponderous expression, Sam pointed up the stairs.

Castiel shook his head. He and Dean had explored there already; there were only white socks in toymaker’s bedroom drawers, and they were all much too big.

Up there? Dean pointed with a tentative hand to the highest reaches of the bookshelves.

Charlie shook her head. She’d hung around at those heights for weeks longer than Sam or Dean or Castiel; she’d have noticed another lonely sock.

Over there? The robot pointed at the toymaker’s workstation, tucked away inside the central pen.

Sam and the plushie giraffe both shook their heads. Sam had seen the shelves, and giraffe had seen the surface and all its jars and boxes. It would be hard not to notice an abandoned toy, or a single, solitary red sock.

So where else was there to look? Where else had _nobody_ looked, for weeks and weeks and weeks?

Slowly, Dean’s attention left the rug, and the shelves, and the fairy lights and the busy, busy hustly-bustly normality of the toyshop at night.

He looked over at the very front of the toyshop, at the display window that was visible to the street. The sight was mostly blocked off from the shop, but a tinsel-draped temporary wall was open enough at the top that Dean could just about see some faint fairy-light twinkles.

With a determined thrust, Dean jabbed his bayonet in that direction.

The others clamoured in excitement, banding together to make their way over there.

For the second time in his existence, the soles of Dean’s boots left the safety and comfort of the plush rug. Hard floorboards tapped under each footfall, multiplied by the steps of all his friends. Only Donna and the giraffe’s weight fell silently, as their feet were soft.

Ninja ballerina Charlie swooped up off the ground, and within seconds she’d loosened a set of Christmas lights, sending one end crashing to the floor with a great smash and sweep. The toys scattered, and crept back only once the lights had ceased their swaying.

Charlie returned to the floor with a dramatic _floosh_ of her black cloak, then sprang up, wearing a big grin. She was the first to approach the lights, and began to climb them like a rope ladder. Each sticky-outy light twinkled in magical colours as she climbed, using them as rungs.

Sam followed, leaving his bayonet behind. Castiel offered Dean the ladder of lights, but Dean made three flustered excuses in rapid succession, one of them being that he had to look after the squirrel.

Except the squirrel turned up her nose and scampered up the lights, climbing right over Sam, then Charlie, making her way to the top.

Donna gave Dean a comforting pat on the arm, her big button eyes friendly and warm. Dean felt much better, and from then on, simply watched from the ground between the bear, the giraffe, and the robot, as Sam and Charlie helped each other up, walking the edge of the plywood wall without fear.

Castiel was already near the top, wanting to be part of the adventure too.

Dean saw Sam point. Without a moment of hesitation, Charlie hopped right off the wall. Dean startled, but relaxed only a moment later as Charlie returned, grabbing for Sam’s hand.

With one foot, Charlie pulled up what looked like a bird perch, hung like a pendulum in the shop’s display window. And there—

There, on the perch! A tiny red sock bird!

The robot bleeped, raising both arms. [  **!!! :) :) :)**  ] His screen flashed a full rainbow spectrum in celebration.

But the bird didn’t move. Sam shook the perch but the bird stayed put. Completely a-jitter, the squirrel ran from one side of the display to the other, her tail twitching all the way.

The robot touched Dean’s shoulder, and showed a picture on his screen. Scissors?

Dean didn’t have _time_ to get scissors. Though his acorn heart rattled in fear, Dean put on a determined expression, and began to climb the Christmas lights. In one hand, he held his bayonet. Granted, it was only a toy, but there was a splintery side. With enough stabbing and sawing, he was sure he could unpick a few stitches.

Letting go of numerous pretend calming breaths, Dean eased himself closer and closer to the ceiling. He dared not look down, not wanting to see a teeny tiny Donna with her paws over her mouth, or the miniature robot with a concerned [  **D:**  ] flashing on his screen.

Up.

Up.

...Up.

It seemed like he’d climbed for an eternity, yet less time had passed than he expected before Castiel’s hand reached out, in front of Dean’s face, offering help for the last few steps. It took all of Dean’s emotional strength to let go of the lights and take hold of Castiel’s hand instead. But Sam lifted the bayonet away, and all at once, Dean had both hands free to grip Castiel.

_H e a v e !_

Dean stood on the cardboard wall, overlooking the window display. He found himself smiling; a baby Christmas tree was all lit up there, surrounded by fake snow, the snow dotted with happy toys playing in the fluff. But Dean’s smile fell: those toys were not alive like the others. They didn’t move, or march, or make conversation.

Castiel held Dean’s hand and shook his head solemnly. He touched Dean’s heart, shaking his head again.

They didn’t have acorn hearts. They couldn’t come alive.

In some ways, Dean thought, that was better. After all, if this poor red sock bird had been sewn to its perch, not allowed to visit its pair, that would have been torture. At least these display-only toys were unaware of the life they could have. They were just... playthings. Still special, but they didn’t have souls.

By now, Sam had freed the sock bird from its perch with Dean’s bayonet. It stared like Donna had before; lifeless, mindless. It was slightly dusty.

The red sock squirrel hurried about, anticipating a completed rescue. They were so close...

Sam held the bird in both hands, wondering how to get it down. He saw Donna and the robot and the giraffe holding limbs out expectantly, and with an apologetic smile shot towards the squirrel, Sam dropped the bird.

Dean only trembled once, watching it fall.

 _Wheeeeeeeee_... Bop! The bird was caught easily, and set neatly on the floor. Then Donna and the others held out their hands to catch Sam. Sam laughed, then jumped—

Dean turned his face away, wide-eyed.

Castiel chuckled, patting Dean’s hair. Trembling, Dean turned to look. Sam was fine! He stood on his feet, giving Donna a high-five.

Charlie jumped too, and landed without a fuss.

But now all the toys were waiting for Castiel and Dean.

Dean looked at Castiel and shook his head. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nopetty-nope.

Castiel blinked reassuringly. _Well, all right,_ he seemed to say. _Then we’ll climb down_. He started with his feet on the lights, his back to the shop. Two lights down, he offered Dean a hand.

Dean took it, physically shaking in his boots as he followed Castiel’s lead, keeping his tread as close to the rope as possible so the lights didn’t fold down with his weight.

Halfway down, Castiel let go of Dean’s hand. Dean panicked, flailing for him—

He slipped on the lights, and skimmed five lights down, almost knocking them both. Dean clenched his eyes tight shut, hands gripping the rope like his life depended on it. He and Castiel both clung to the same rung, legs dangling free.

Soft as anything, Dean felt a touch on his cheek, and he peeked his eyes open. Castiel looked at him with his kind blue gaze. His cowboy hat had been knocked off.

Gently, Castiel’s mouth moved. “ _Dean,_ ” he said, and Dean recognised the shape of his name. “ _Dean, do you trust me?_ ”

Dean raised his eyebrows. He barely needed to think before he nodded.

“ _Take my shoulders,_ ” Castiel said, gesturing with a flick of his eyes.

Dean did so without question.

With a proud smile, Castiel nodded. “ _Hold on tight._ ”

And he loosened his hold on the rope. They fell – but gradually, in increments of a few inches each time. Dean held fast, his body pressed to Castiel’s as they descended. Down... Down...

They landed with an easy _plop_ , boots on the floorboards.

Dean let himself fall over this time. Solid ground. Ahhhhhh.

Castiel laughed, kneeling down beside Dean, then crawling onto his hands and knees so he could look into Dean’s eyes. “ _Well done, Dean,_ ” he said. Dean watched his mouth, then gazed into his eyes. Cas had such pretty, lovely eyes. And he made Dean feel so proud of himself, too! Dean couldn’t help but grin, even though it came out awkward and lopsided.

Dean looked around, realising the others had left. Blushing, he sat up, only to headbutt Castiel. They both fell apart, rubbing their foreheads. Dean’s blush grew, the circles on his cheeks expanding to swallow up a few freckles.

He got to his feet, helping Castiel up. Castiel had colour on his cheeks too, and the sight of it made Dean’s insides feel all swirly. How peculiar.

After a hasty glance in their direction, Dean huffed and chased after their friends. Castiel came too, putting his hat back on.

As a group, led by Charlie and her expert skill with ladders, all the toys made their way to the toymaker’s workbench again. The giraffe found the jar of acorns, and like before, Sam sewed a heart into the fluffy core of the red sock bird.

Donna reached down, brushing rolls of grey dust off the bird’s head. Nearby the squirrel chattered urgently, hurrying between the jar and the edge of the desk, then around and around the toys’ legs.

Tick. Tock.

Tick—

The bird lifted his wings, ruffling them like he was waking up from a long nap. Indeed, he yawned, opening his wooden-peg beak wide. When he settled, he saw a friend – and Dean wasn’t certain, but he was sure the bird looked at the squirrel like... she was _familiar_.

The squirrel jumped for joy, silently chittering and skittering around. She ran around in circles, sniffing the red bird, and smiled widely when the bird hopped in place, his well-stuffed bean belly _paff_ ing down to the table. He didn’t have legs, but he flapped his little wings a few times, and he lifted right off the table. He hopped around after his mate, chasing her with obvious glee.

Dean shook his fists by his shoulders in celebration. He took back his bayonet from Sam, and he turned to his other friends. The robot wasn’t up here, since he couldn’t leave the ground unless lifted by a human – and now Dean felt like the poor guy was missing out.

So Dean gestured widely to the others. Let’s go.

They went all the way down, elated and light in their steps.

Dean and Donna led everyone to where the robot waited. The robot saw the sock plushies together and immediately turned the pupils in his eyes from squares to two hearts, and the screen on his belly showed a fond [  **< 3** ]. It was obvious to them all: the squirrel and the bird weren’t quite the same, but they were made of the same stuff, and they were meant to be together.

Destined, really.

 _Fated_.

With a great big grin, all seven of them went back to the plushie zoo, and sat at a table. A dozen pretty dolls gathered around, wanting to hear the tale. Even the mermaid asked to be carried up close, with her arms over the velvet elephant and the shoulders of a kickboxing doll.

The robot happily narrated, while the others shared knitted radish between them, and some lettuce, and a pudding. Dean sipped at his invisible tea, sharing a bright smile with Castiel, who pretended to munch on a handful of cake.

Although a major sense of accomplishment had overtaken Dean tonight – not only had he helped bring two loving souls together, he’d practically dived off the _ceiling_ – a tickle of wonder and a twitch of curiosity began to creep around inside him.

Lots of toys came in pairs. Some came in a collection, like Dean and the other soldiers.

But Dean had never felt the same connection to the toy soldiers as Sam had, or any of the other soldiers still did. Every night he’d had to fight his instincts just to keep marching and stay in line. He wanted to be _here_ , with his friends. Saving toys. Hunting for things. He loved this more than anything.

So... if Dean was not destined to be wrapped up in a set with five others, who _was_ he meant to be paired with? Did he have a pair at all?

He met Castiel’s eyes and smiled. But his eyes soon drifted, worry and sadness ghosting through his wooden body. He looked around at all these adoring dolls. Which of them was destined for him? Would he wear the top hat someday, while a ballerina spun beside him in a white dress?

What if he didn’t want _that_ , either...?

Unsure, Dean got back to eating his pretend grapes, and his pretend onion. All of that destiny nonsense was something to be thought about another day. For now, the red sock squirrel and her bird pair were happy together, and so Dean was happy too.


	4. Magic Star

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dean and Cas go OUTSIDE!!! (and then back in, because outside is c o l d)

_Screw it!_ Dean thought. At the first chance he got, he abandoned the other soldiers and made his way straight to Castiel’s log. He just wanted to see his friend, and there was no point dilly-dallying over whether he was _allowed_ if he would just end up there sooner or later. Might as well be sooner.

Only, like the other night, Castiel was not alone. This time he was surrounded by a crowd. Cas was a popular cowboy, it seemed.

But as Dean got closer, heading around the gift wrap, he realised the crowd were not hogging Castiel, but Castiel was part of the crowd. They all leaned towards the window, peering out at the snow.

Dean couldn’t help feeling unhappy. Sitting and watching the snow was _their_ thing. It was meant to be special! And... and _private_. Just Dean and Cas. Not Donna and the giraffe and Charlie and the mermaid and the sock squirrel, too.

Even so, Dean was curious to see what was outside. So he snuck up close and peered out, tall enough to see over the heads of the other toys.

Castiel turned when he noticed Dean’s reflection, and his face brightened. “ _Hello, Dean,_ ” he mouthed, pushing away from the group to reach for Dean’s hand “ _Come see._ ”

He pulled Dean up close to the window.

At first Dean just thought it was regular snow. Nothing new was falling, so the world had settled like a clean white blanket.

But then—! Dean noticed a bright light...

On the frosty window, Castiel drew around the outline of the glowing shape. A perfect five-pointed star, resting in a bed of white.

Huh! Where did _that_ come from?

Castiel drew the star-speckled sky up above, then three lines falling, to indicate the trajectory of the downed object.

A fallen star.

A star, out here in the snow?!

Charlie and Donna exchanged a thoughtful look, then shared the same smile. Charlie stepped away, and when the other toys looked at her, she gestured to the toyshop’s resident Christmas tree. It was lit up with hundreds of pretty lights, but as Charlie pointed out, there was nothing decorating the highest spire.

Donna waggled a paw towards the star, then suggested... perhaps...? It might look good up there. On top of the tree.

Castiel pressed his cowboy hat firmly on his head. He gripped the window frame, straining to lift it. Getting the idea, the other toys tried to help. But Dean was highly alarmed. Go _outside_? Toys weren’t meant to go outside!

But Castiel had clearly made his mind up: with a _heave_ and a clunk, the window was wide open, and in rushed an icy breeze. Dean shivered.

The night was bathed in blue moonlight, and thick piles of white slathered every visible area. The star was some distance away, on the other side of a gleaming pond. Castiel readied himself to step out, but Dean grabbed him at the last moment, shaking his head.

Castiel tilted his head.

Dean hesitated. He didn’t want to stop Cas, not exactly. But he pointed to the pond, and shook his head. Cas would get all _wet_. Water was no good for a wooden toy.

Castiel looked thoughtful. Then he looked interested. “ _What do we do?_ ” he mouthed.

Dean had an idea. He marched over to the gift wrap, and yanked out a long roll. He grabbed for Charlie, placing her at a corner to act as a paperweight. The red sock bird and the red sock squirrel plopped down at another corner. Then Castiel stood at a third.

Dean began to fold the paper, making something he’d seen in a book once. Sam liked to pretend he was the only one who enjoyed books, but Dean liked them just fine, too.

Donna went around the paper, holding a pair of scissors, and she helped snip the paper in the places Dean told her to.

Folding and folding, Dean eventually shooed his friends off the paper, and kept folding.

Eventually he’d made a thick, well-constructed shape, which everyone recognised. B for boat!

Dean dragged his paper boat up to the window, smiling proudly. He stood to attention beside Castiel, and gave him a salute.

Castiel smiled. And he took Dean’s hand.

Dean’s eyes darted to the mermaid, who hadn’t seemed to notice where Castiel had put his hand. Boldly, Dean helped Castiel push the boat out of the window. It fell smoothly, landing with a _pap!_ in the snow below the window.

Such a soft landing!

This time, Dean decided it would be okay to jump. Holding Castiel hand, on three... One! Two! THREE!

They fell, laughing, and they landed on their backs. Yes, it was soft, but _wow_ , it was cold.

Dean stood up, waist-deep in the chilly white fluff. He kept hold of Castiel’s hand as they waded through it all, making their way to their boat.

They climbed out of the deeper snow and onto the top surface, treading carefully so they didn’t fall in again. Moving slowly, they pushed their boat along, and it hissed as it slid on the snowflakes.

The outside world was gigantic. Dean had seen the sky so many times through the window, but he’d never imagined it was infinite. The blackness went on forever, decorated here and there by sparkling stars. The land was an everlasting realm of blankness, broken only by trees – some mighty and lush, some crooked and bald – all topped with white crowns.

Dean stumbled as they neared the pond, and Castiel grabbed for him, saving him from falling in. But the boat slipped forward, dipping onto the pond surface.

Dean expected it to float.

It flopped over onto its side, and stayed there.

Frowning, Dean kept hold of Castiel’s hand, his other arm stretching out to nudge the boat upright. It wobbled, and tipped.

Dean touched the water. It was solid.

Awed, Dean turned back to Castiel. Castiel looked just as surprised.

Together they looked back at the window, seeing a warm light spilling out from the neat rectangle, all the silhouettes of their friends waiting for them. Dean grinned, and without warning, pushed Castiel straight onto the ice.

Castiel flailed, skidding along. Dean went after him, colliding with his back on purpose. Their legs batted at the boat, shoes skimming the smooth surface. Dean laughed, clinging to Castiel as they spun together, drifting way out onto the pond. They didn’t need the boat at all; they could sail together.

Castiel began to chuckle, arms out at his sides to keep his balance. Dean made sure not to let go of him, as they twirled, and swirled, and began to dance across the surface, Dean’s arm around Castiel’s shoulder.

When Dean met Castiel’s eyes, his acorn heart felt light and floaty, like it was skating on its own magical winter lake. The world was spinning, blue and black and sparkling white, and Castiel was the only constant sight. Hand in hand, heart-to-heart, they made patterns in the ice along their travels.

Without any good reason to resist, Dean leaned in, wrapping both arms around the back of Castiel’s neck. Now they could hug while they skated. Castiel smiled, a rosy blush on his cheeks even though it was horrendously cold. Little happy wrinkles painted themselves beside his blue eyes, and Dean adored seeing them. Cas was a happy cowboy.

But then Dean’s feet slipped too fast, and he fell into a pocket of nearby snow, Castiel tumbling after him. They laughed, face-to-face, holding tight to each other in their private snowbank.

Dean marvelled at his friend. Oh, he was _so_ lucky to have him.

Castiel got to his feet, holding out a hand for Dean to take. The fallen star was just over there, he pointed, where its golden light permeated the darkness. It waited for them, its light guiding them closer.

Dean trudged over there with Castiel at his side, leaving the frozen pond and the paper boat behind. The nearer and nearer they got to the star, the more it glowed. It was so bright it hurt to look at.

Now they were close enough to see how big it really was. It was just a bit larger than they were, if they spread out their arms and legs.

Castiel’s wooden face was lit from under his chin, and Dean pointed at how funny he looked, grinning. Castiel squinted back at Dean, then rolled his eyes.

Together, they reached for the star. With testing touches, they discovered it was cool, not burning hot. It felt metallic, but as their hands lifted it up, it tinked and clinked like glazed ceramic. This magical thing, this fallen star, it was undoubtedly _cosmic_. Dean felt a rush of its power running through his body wherever he touched it.

Slowly, carefully, Dean and Castiel maneuvered the star towards the pond. They rolled it on its five rounded spikes, and flopped it over from one side to the other, and eventually just pushed it, letting it skid along the surface of the snow. Wherever the star left a path in the snow, the snow sparkled with twinkly gold dots, which bloomed with light a few times before fading away to nothing.

The star slipped from the snow and onto the pond, and off it spun all by itself, turning lazily until it slowed to a halt. Dean was about to go after it when Castiel tugged sharply on his sleeve.

Dean turned, wondering what had caught Castiel’s attention— A squirrel! A real one! It was the same size as Dean, and it bounced on all fours through the snow, its little paws sinking quite deeply into the white carpet. Its nose went a-twitching, its eyes set curiously on Castiel.

Dean smiled. He and Castiel had met a cat in the toymaker’s bedroom, and nothing terrible came of the experience. Dean had come to the conclusion that animals just wanted to sniff and see what was what. So he and Castiel waited patiently, side-by-side, admiring the creature before them. It chittered aloud, opening its mouth just enough that Dean saw it nibbling its front teeth together.

Cautiously, the squirrel came right up to the toys. Its nose wriggled faster, taking a particular interest in Castiel. The near-white rims around its shiny black eyes narrowed, while its whiskers tickled about, making Castiel flinch in his attempt not to laugh.

Now the squirrel was _really_ interested. It sat upright, one little five-fingered paw reaching to pat Castiel’s chest. Castiel swayed in place, not too bothered—

The squirrel chomped down on Castiel’s arm, and began to hop away in big jumps, dragging Cas in its mouth. Dean yelped, darting to grab Castiel’s foot before he got too far, but the squirrel was too fast. Castiel squirmed violently, wanting to get away, but the squirrel seemed intent on taking him home.

Dean chased after them at full speed, his acorn heart rattling fast in his chest. He leapt on top of Castiel, yanking him away from the squirrel. The squirrel seemed highly offended, not to mention confused; it turned around, looking to see where its loot had gone.

Dean shoved the ruffled cowboy behind himself to protect him. Castiel stood on trembling legs, both hands holding Dean.

Dean glared at the squirrel, daring it to attack again. He had no weapons, but he was sure he could do some damage anyway; Charlie had taught him how to both pirouette and kick at the same time, and Dean had been waiting for the right moment to use his new move.

The squirrel strutted right up to Dean, sniffing him too. Dean suddenly understood: it wanted his acorn! The silly animal probably thought Dean and Castiel were easy-serve dinners. Like heck! Dean lunged at the animal, startling it into a backward leap, and it landed with its legs splayed in the snow, mouth agape, fluffy tail stiffened straight.

Dean acted big and menacing, arms up, his expression set in a roar, and he jumped forward, spinning around, one leg lifting straight up. He missed the squirrel completely, and made himself so dizzy that he fell over with a _flomp_ into the snow. But he sat up with a pile of snow on his head, as Castiel knelt at his side – and as Dean looked around, he spotted the squirrel legging it towards the nearest tree.

“ _I did it!_ ” Dean said in delight, looking at Castiel proudly.

Castiel’s smile was ever so grateful. One hand touched Dean’s cheek, and he asked, “ _Are you all right?_ ”

Dean looked at himself, nodding before getting to his feet. But as he helped Castiel up too, he noticed how Castiel’s coat was torn, and his arm had been slightly gnawed. Dean’s smile vanished, and he was overcome with concern and guilt, hands stroking Castiel’s shoulders over and over, eyes roaming his battered body, then meeting his eyes sadly.

But Castiel only smiled, in a serene sort of way. “ _Come on,_ ” he mouthed, tipping his head towards their fallen star. “ _Let’s go home._ ”

They went as a pair, walking with the utmost care across the pond. Dean couldn’t go two seconds without checking if Castiel was okay, but after a while, it became clear that he was absolutely fine. Cas even let go of Dean, hurrying ahead to scoop the fallen star into their paper boat.

Together, Dean and Castiel pushed the boat all the way back to the toyshop’s window. A gleaming string of fairy lights dangled there for them to climb, but first of all, they tied the star into the lights, and gave the rope two firm tugs.

In increments, the star lifted its way to the window, captured and pulled inside by the other toys.

For a few moments, the outside world was dark and lonely. But Dean looked towards his best friend, and was lit from within as he saw his smile. Castiel peered back, contentment obvious in his expression.

Whoosh! The string lights slapped back down to the snow, and as one, Dean and Castiel held on to each other, and held onto the lights, and up, up, up they went.

They climbed back into the warmth of the shop, surrounded by paw-pats and hugs of congratulations.

Already, the sock squirrel and her bird mate were working together with Charlie to get the star up on the tree. Its light was fabulous, and radiant, and seemed to twinkle in different colours depending on how it was rotated. Every dark corner of the shop was lit by its shine, and the magic of it touched Dean and Castiel’s faces within the crowd, and they both smiled. They turned to each other and smiled even more.

With a subtle tug on Dean’s hand, Castiel requested that they leave. So they snuck away, while everyone was enthralled by their new Christmas star.

Dean let Castiel lead him down off the poster drawers, then some distance along the bookcase. They paused for a moment, admiring the final sight: the star was fixed to the treetop, where its majesty beamed so purely, casting golden streaks of light right across the ceiling, illuminating every wooden beam and every strand of tinsel up there.

After another tug on his hand, Dean focused on his friend again. Castiel pulled him into a hidden cubby at the back of the bookcase, and at first Dean thought it was just a dark hole – but then he heard the _cli-clop_ of an electrical plug inserted firmly into its socket – and in a flash of lit-up fairy lights, the cubby became a cosy secret hideaway.

Dean gaped, awed by the space around him. It was only six inches across – not even a shoebox – but it was tall enough to stand in, and there was a white sock full of other socks, which seemed to make a chair. A cute baby rocking horse half Dean’s size looked up at him from his knee, rocking towards him to say hello. Dean sat on the sock, petting the horse’s head. It closed its eyes and smiled.

Looking around, Dean saw Castiel taking off his scuffed-up coat, hanging it on a rusty nail stuck out from the wall. Off came his cowboy hat – and Dean marvelled at how casual Castiel looked now, only a painted shirt covering naked oak. Castiel caught sight of Dean, and grew shy, bowing his head and touching his carved hair like he was trying to adjust it.

Dean just smiled, and as Castiel came close, he allowed his cowboy friend to take off his kepi hat. Dean stood slowly, assisting Castiel: he removed his jacket too, letting Castiel take it away to hang it.

Dean had never taken his military jacket off before. He wasn’t like a doll, he wasn’t made to be dressed up and down. The jacket and the hat were part of his _being_ , they explained his purpose. Without the toy soldier uniform, what _was_ Dean?

Just a toy?

Just... what?

Now Dean realised why Castiel had undressed them both. They sat together on the sock chair, shoulder-to-shoulder, and they gazed at each other, mesmerised by what they’d become.

Castiel wasn’t a cowboy any more. Dean wasn’t a soldier.

For the first time in his existence, Dean realised he didn’t need to be a soldier to have a purpose. Tonight he’d saved his friend from certain death (well, probably), and although they’d accomplished their mission, the star on the tree was not the magical thing that lit Dean’s heart at present. What brightened him from the inside out was the light in Castiel’s eyes, and the acorn-deep affection Dean felt for him.

Dean’s true purpose was to love his friends, and the other toys around him. That was always what made him happiest. And from now on, that was what Dean would do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want some other festive stories to read while you wait for the next chapter (which will be up a few days from now), these are the seasonal fics I've posted over the years for you to enjoy:  
>   ♥ [**Our Garden Home**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4620558) (36k cute garden fairies + a winter solstice chapter!)  
>    ♥ [**Snow Place Like Home (But My Home Is With You)**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3176720) (48k fluff, Team Free Will staying in a B&B, inappropriate gifts, Dean in lingerie)  
>    ♥ [**Nine Times We Met (And One Christmas We Parted)**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1149451) (58k historical angst... but Christmassy!)  
>    ♥ [**Welcome All Winchesters**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8964658) (60k fake engagement in a mountain log cabin)


	5. Acorn Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dean feels lost... (But, with the help of a friend, finds what he was looking for all along.)
> 
>  **Author's note:** Final four chapters posting today!! If you're reading this in an email, the fic is now COMPLETE!!  
>  P.S. I've added art to previous chapters~ ♥

The grandfather clock chimed midnight. On the eleventh chime, Dean jerked his arm up in a salute, but he didn’t have his bayonet, and his hand hit the ceiling of the foreign cubby. Startled, he lowered his arm, looking around.

Fairy lights... A baby rocking horse, yawning cutely?

Dean looked to his side, stunned to see Castiel waking up beside him on their sock chair. He blinked a few times, then his sleepy eyes met Dean’s, and he smiled so warmly that Dean felt static in his core.

Had they really lost track of time? Five o’clock in the morning had come around, and Dean and Castiel had still been conversing, laughing, playing silly miming games. Dean hadn’t returned to his shelf on time, so he and Castiel froze in place when the clock chimed. Dean had the vague, recent memory of staring at the fairy lights in Castiel’s secret hideaway _all day_.

Guilt set in, and Dean ran a hand over his mouth, avoiding Castiel’s gaze. Castiel reached to touch Dean’s thigh, but Dean got up quickly before he could make contact. Dean was horribly embarrassed. Perhaps he’d been a more wayward soldier than most, over the weeks, but he’d never shirked his duties entirely, the way he had late last night. Look at him! Not even wearing his hat.

Dean grabbed his jacket and shucked it on, then crammed his hat on his head in his rush to leave. He emerged between two cloth-bound books, which leaned to touch like the letter A. The toyshop was busy already; the trains chugged along, the music box played. Dean was disoriented by the fact he could see his fellow soldiers on the other side of the shop, but they marched without him.

Castiel hurried after Dean, not bothering to get dressed – but when he bumped into Dean’s back, Dean turned to him, his jaw set; he pushed Castiel back towards his cubby.

Castiel was confused.

Dean simply shook his head. They couldn’t be seen together. What would the other toys think? They’d see Dean emerging from someone else’s hideaway, and then they’d see Castiel, practically _naked_ – it was _unheard_ of.

Castiel reached for Dean again, brushing his arm. Dean’s eyes fell to Castiel’s own arm, seeing the damage the squirrel had done. With a sorry smile, Dean hesitated, then gave in: he touched Castiel’s wound, meeting his eyes.

He felt an urge. An urge he didn’t understand. He was already as close as he could be, but he wanted to be... closer.

Alarmed by all the feelings, Dean turned and marched off, wondering where the heck he’d left his bayonet. Castiel had no voice to call after him, but there was no doubt; if Castiel could have shouted, Dean would have heard his call and ignored it.

He didn’t know what was wrong with him. He loved Castiel – he did, of course he did – but he felt _dissatisfied_. He wanted _more_. But what else was there to have? They were perfect friends already. Dean had already given Cas hours and hours of his devoted existence; he’d abandoned his post more times than he dared to count, just to spend the night with him – and even last night, Dean had been ready to give up his purpose entirely, just for the chance to be _vulnerable_ with a toy he trusted.

Even the thought of what they’d done... it sent shivers through Dean’s wood grain, rattling his acorn heart. He’d never been so open with another toy. He wondered if he ever could be again.

It scared him.

It scared him to be so hungry for another toy’s attention. This was how toys were meant to show their love for their human owners. Dean wanted to be _played_ with. He wanted to be helpless, in the way a child took a limp figurine and made it come to life with a bold hand and a few imaginative phrases of speech. Dean wanted to be stripped of his purpose over and over again, and made into something new every day.

Because Castiel did that to him. He made Dean an adventurer, a knight, a hunter, a nurse, a stable hand – whatever came their way, they roamed together into new lands, and returned with new stories to tell afterwards.

Dean had first seen the cowboy outfit from across the room, and he’d let the novelty turn him upside down. But as he got to know the lone ranger, it turned out Castiel was so much more than the outfit. He was all things. A fighter, an ice-skater, a veterinarian, a librarian, a winged angel. He could be anything, and he made sure Dean came along for the ride.

As Dean finally reached his post on the soldiers’ shelf, he found his bayonet leaning there, abandoned.

He picked it up.

It didn’t feel right in his hand. It was familiar, yes, but it no longer served him the way it used to. He was no longer a soldier. All this time he’d been determined to succeed in his missions, just to prove... what? To prove to his company that he still had worth, even if he was different to them? To prove to Castiel that he was strong and kind, and therefore worthy of love?

Or, perhaps, all along, accepting missions had been Dean’s excuse to do whatever he liked, to follow his heart, helping others, chasing joy and adventure with his best friend. He didn’t need the bayonet to do that.

He put it down.

He looked out at the shop, admiring all its colours and lights and sounds. It was a merry, merry place, but where amongst the madness did Dean want to be?

Immediately, his eyes went to Castiel’s bookshelf cubby. There was Castiel, a little figure in brown, emerging from his hideaway with his brimmed hat on his head, pulling his coat on. He touched one hand to the rip in his coat, and then wandered away with purpose. He went behind the toymaker’s central pen, and Dean couldn’t see him any more.

Dean looked away. And he turned his back on the shop, going to sit on the resin log, staring out at the snow.

He hoped for the answer to come to him with a flurry of snowflakes, for his discomfort to lift away like it was a jacket he could remove, and he’d be simple again.

That was the problem, wasn’t it? Toys weren’t meant to be so complex. Dean was feeling things he’d never known toys could feel.

But... there might have been someone who’d felt all this.

Full of determination, Dean got up and went to find the velvet elephant. She was old and wise, and probably understood more things than Dean had even heard of.

He found her by a potted plant, admiring the leaves. Dean went up to her cautiously, smiling when she noticed him. He gave her a small bow of respect.

And then he faltered. How could he explain himself?

Slowly, he sat down on the bottom edge of a nearby bookshelf, and clutched his hands together between his knees. The elephant came up to him, settling her trunk on his knee. When Dean looked up, she blinked gently. She would listen.

Dean rubbed the back of his neck. He gestured a hand outward. _Well_ , he began, _it’s like this_.

He pressed both hands to his heart.

He looked down, opening up his hands like the pages of a book. He showed the elephant one hand, and pointed at himself. He showed her the other hand, and curled it into a fist, looking away in shame.

The elephant lifted her trunk to touch Dean’s heart, looking at him questioningly.

Dean sighed.

The elephant nodded. She turned back to the plant – and beckoned for Dean to join her. Dean trotted after her, standing beside the plant pot, one hand resting on its terracotta ridge.

The elephant curled her trunk by Dean’s chest, as if taking his acorn. She mimed placing the acorn in the plant’s soil. She then reached for mid-air, taking another item... another acorn? She placed it in the same pot.

Then she gestured to the plant, demonstrating how it grew upward, spreading its leaves.

Dean nodded. He got it. One thing could become another thing. Dean and.... someone else – they could create a life together.

But...

The velvet elephant’s soft ears shimmered faintly as she tilted her head. _But what?_

But was Cas the right someone?

Dean wasn’t sure. He tucked his hands under his arms, shaking his head. _Thank you,_ he mouthed, before wandering away.

He didn’t know what to think. 

He didn’t know where to go.

He didn’t know what he was feeling. But he knew it felt unsettling, and uncertain, and unsafe. He was so far out of his comfort zone that he was practically _skydiving_ , emotionally speaking.

Dean returned to the poster drawers, where he had a full view of the toyshop and all its inhabitants. Who could console him? Who could settle his nerves, make him feel safe, and sure of himself?

What about down there? He could see Donna the bear and Charlie the ninja ballerina having a conversation, laughing together. Dean smiled, glad to see them getting along so well, but his eyes moved on. They made him laugh, as Castiel did, but tonight their jokes couldn’t provide the kind of happiness he needed.

Aha! There was the red sock bird, hopping around a tinsel nest that the sock squirrel helped to build. They’d found a place on the mantelpiece, above the fireplace hearth. The hearth was filled with big, decorative Christmas presents rather than firelogs, and the whole area seemed inviting. Dean waved to the sock toys, and grinned when they bounced excitedly in response. But he didn’t go to them. They were sweethearted like Castiel, and frankly, Dean liked to think about nesting too, but a squirrel and a bird weren’t great for long conversations, or tickle fights, or to snuggle up with after.

The robot was building something new tonight, and numbers appeared on his screen as he made calculations. The idea excited Dean, because he loved to make clever things as well – like when he and Castiel made paper planes, or configured the fairy lights to flash in patterns along to the Christmas music – but the robot’s company didn’t seem to be what Dean wanted right this second. He wanted someone more gentle, more spontaneous, someone who didn’t mind making mistakes as much.

Marching across the rug with the collection of soldiers, Sam had his bayonet slung over his shoulder, boots kicking high. Sam had caring eyes like Castiel, and he and Dean loved each other dearly, but Sam wouldn’t look at Dean the way Castiel looked at him.

Dean began to frown. There had to be someone Dean could go to, surely. Someone who wouldn’t overwhelm him.

Then, at last, Dean spotted someone.

The mermaid left behind the other dolls, helped by the velvet elephant to climb into her new single rollerskate. Without legs, but a stuffed turquoise fish tail instead, it took her some full-body wiggling, but she fitted perfectly into the skate in the end.

The elephant offered the mermaid an assuring pat on the back, then gave the rollerskate a good push. With a happy grin and some excited applause, the mermaid set off, rolling across the rug. She pulled on the shoelaces and the skate changed direction; she laughed with glee, avoiding Sam and the soldiers, waving to them as she rolled alongside their marching troupe. Sam tipped his hat to her, and she saluted him with two fingers to her forehead.

With his spirits brightened, Dean climbed down from the shelf and made his way towards the mermaid with a grin on his face. He waved to the robot, and clapped Charlie on the back as he passed. Full of determination, Dean went right up to the mermaid just as her skate rolled to a stop.

Dean bowed to the mermaid, then lifted an arm to take her hand.

Of all the times he’d danced with her, or blown her kisses, or winked in her direction, he’d never once asked... “ _What’s your name?_ ”

The mermaid rolled her eyes, smiling. With both her strong arms set to the white leather tongue of the boot, she pushed herself free, swung her tail over to the laces and slid down them like a playground slide. Dean caught her easily, one hand under her tail, one around her lower back.

She drew the letters of her name in mid-air with a dainty wooden hand. J... E... WEL.

“ _Jewel?_ ” Dean repeated. He grinned. “ _Just as lovely as you._ ”

Bashful, Jewel tucked a luscious wave of her red hair behind her ear, lowering her gaze.

Dean felt someone watching him. He turned his head, and saw Charlie standing nearby, and Donna, and the robot. They huddled together, staring, looking absolutely baffled.

Dean tried to wave to his friends, but had to dart to catch Jewel before he dropped her. She huffed, faking annoyance. Dean gave her an apologetic grin. He lifted her back to her rollerskate, and she sat on the toe, her chin on her hand, gazing at Dean with an amused expression on her face.

Jewel was exactly what he needed right now, Dean thought, while smiling back at her. Her presence was comforting – she was the doll he danced with the most before Castiel came along. Looking at her made Dean feel like his old self, before a world of wild emotions took him over. Before... _love_ , or whatever.

Wait, no, not _love_! Whoa! _Don’t think about that!_ His acorn heart just couldn’t _take_ it. Dean hastily rubbed the back of his neck, doing his best to set Cas out of his mind. He was trying to put all the emotional chaos behind him, and dwelling on it wouldn’t help. He needed a serious distraction.

The music box was playing nearby, and that gave him an idea. “ _Sooooo... You wanna dance?_ ” he asked Jewel, demonstrating with a swaying gesture, one arm lifted before him.

Jewel reached up, expecting Dean to lift her. He did without question, and together they began to sway, the paler fins of her starched-cotton tail swinging about Dean’s ankles.

 _Aha,_ he thought. This was what he was supposed to do. This was so easy!

He gazed into her eyes, content that he’d made the right choice. Who needed to be a soldier, or a star-catcher, or a sock-hunting explorer, when he could be a dancer?

Jewel had nice lavender-purple eyes. Tall ovals, like Dean’s, and like Castiel’s. She had a little black swoosh over the top, to make eyelashes. Castiel had the swoosh at the bottom, like the wizened wrinkles of a worldly traveller. Castiel’s were blue, though. A nice, special blue, that sometimes looked like the sky through the window in the daytime, sometimes like the ocean in the toyshop’s picture books.

Jewel had pink circles on her cheeks. The wood of her body was far darker than Castiel’s – she was varnished to be more beautiful. She was undoubtedly gorgeous. But Dean could barely see the grain swirl in her oak, like he could with Castiel. Something seemed amiss in her face, at least to Dean...

Jewel didn’t wear a hat. And that was just... wrong.

But Dean could fix that. “ _C’mere!_ ” he invited, pausing their slow dance and placing Jewel into her rollerskate. He took the laces and pulled the skate across the room, taking her to visit the gift wrap.

“ _One minute,_ ” he said, glad Jewel seemed more intrigued than annoyed. Dean began to climb the poster drawers.

He got to the top, and ignored the urge to check the resin log for Castiel. If he saw his cowboy, he’d just want to _go_ to him, watch the snow with him, and...

And...

Dean wondered what the big deal was. Why was he resisting?

No! No, Jewel was waiting. He couldn’t let her down.

He made what he came up here to make, and he climbed back down. “ _Ta-taaa,_ ” he announced, presenting Jewel with a white gift wrap accessory he’d cut and folded himself. A cowboy hat!

Jewel took the hat from Dean, looking at it in confusion. She glanced back at him curiously. Dean urged her to put it on with a twirling hand gesture.

Slowly – hesitating the whole way – Jewel lifted the hat to her head. She put it on, and it settled perfectly.

Dean felt his heart swell. So much better.

Jewel managed a funny smile. Dean supposed she was pleased. Right? She must like it.

From the corner of his eye, Dean saw his friends gathering, watching him and Jewel. Sam was there too now, and so were the squirrel and the bird. They were probably talking about what they saw. Well, good! Maybe they could see Dean was... happy.

Dean reached up to the rim of the skate, taking both of Jewel’s hands. Gazing into her eyes, he felt his temporary contentment evaporate a little. Something wasn’t quite right...

Struck with an idea, Dean raised a finger.

Jewel asked, in silence, “ _What’s up?_ ”

Dean pointed to his own eyes, then Jewel’s eyes. He pointed in the direction of the toymaker’s workbench, and mimed picking up a tool. It was meant to be a paintbrush, but even if it looked like a pen, the message was still clear. He demonstrated painting Jewel’s eyes. They’d be so easy to change—! And blue was a much better colour—

Jewel slapped Dean so hard he stumbled backwards.

When he stood straight, rubbing his pinkening cheek, he stared at the mermaid in the rollerskate with utter confusion bobbing like a capsized boat inside him. Jewel’s face was a mask of disdain and disgust. “ _What’d I do?_ ” Dean asked helplessly.

Jewel climbed right out of her skate, plopping down onto the rug. She was so cross that when she hopped a little bit closer, the movement struck terror into Dean’s heart and he backed away, shaking his head, one hand protectively between him and the angry mermaid.

Almost snarling, Jewel took off the hat Dean made her, and was about to crumple it into a little tiny ball, when... she paused. She looked at the hat, expressionless. Then she turned her lavender eyes to a figure in the distance.

Dean looked too, and saw with a jolt that Castiel was hanging out with the dolls, laughing with them as he sewed up his ripped coat with a needle and thread.

Dean’s heart sank. He missed his friend. He missed Cas. Dean was losing the chance for a good night, and upsetting an acquaintance in the meantime, just because he was scared of feeling too much.

Now Jewel sighed. Her fish tail bunched up and she leaned her elbows on the crook like she was leaning on her knees. She let the cowboy hat go, and it settled onto the rug. Then she held her hands up, asking to be lifted. Dean helped her up, and at her signal, helped her onto his back. She hung on him with her arms around his shoulders, her tail around his waist so he could hold it.

She pointed straight over Dean’s shoulder, towards Castiel.

Feeling as though his acorn was stuck in his throat, Dean made his way over there. He knew his friends were following – they were nosy little toys.

Dean went slowly. What if Cas was mad at him now? What if he didn’t get that Dean needed to figure things out, what if Dean had already ruined everything? Yes, he wanted to be one of a pair, like the sock squirrel and the bird, but Dean wasn’t as simple as them. Socks had one distinct pair. Dean wasn’t the same; he could be paired with _anyone_.

He’d just...

He'd just been afraid of feelings he didn't understand.

And now...

Now he _did_ understand.

Yes. Cas was the one.

His acorn was the one Dean’s wanted to grow tall with.

Dean let Jewel climb onto the back of the velvet elephant, then accepted the elephant’s chin-touch of encouragement. Jewel winked, then shooed Dean towards Castiel.

Dean stood straight, miming a deep breath in... then out. Here goes.

He strode up to Castiel, waiting until the sewing needle was point-down so it was safe... and then Dean tapped Cas on the shoulder.

Castiel turned. Dean smiled.

They went to the window, sitting together on their resin log. They watched the snow.

Almost all of the night passed in silent comfort, _contentment_ , both of them just watching the flakes settle. Shining in the darkness.

Jewel was... lovely. But she’d easily keep Dean in his comfort zone, always, whether that meant not feeling too much all at once, or never going to scary places and doing dangerous things. And who could be safer? She literally _didn’t leave the ground_. 

With Castiel, Dean was made to confront his fears, in the form of dark stairwells, great heights, and unparalleled emotional vulnerability. Yet it always seemed to turn out okay in the end when he did.

Castiel made Dean feel secure, in the literal sense, with an arm around his waist as they fell. Dean trusted him to get them through a difficult moment, whether that was a confrontation with a beast, or an argument. And confronting fears made Dean stronger. Overcoming them for a good cause made him kinder. He never would have grown like this if Castiel had never pulled him out of the familiar, predictable comfort zone he’d been in when they first met.

Under his wooden hand, Dean felt the bump of new stitches in Castiel’s coat, and he imagined the coat was like their paired hearts: a little hurt, but duly fixed. Things were good between them again.

But Dean couldn’t find a way to explain the journey he’d been on tonight. The things he’d learned about himself were so hard to explain. So he showed it the only way he could. He reached out and took Castiel’s hand.

At first Castiel seemed startled, then unsure.

But when Dean squeezed him, and gazed determinedly into his eyes, Castiel couldn’t help but smile. And they returned to watching the snow, holding hands.

Not letting go.

Not _ever_ letting go again.


	6. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dean learns what 'home' is for him (and accidentally gets a dog).

One thing the toyshop was never short on was _wrapping paper_. There were stacks and stacks of gift wrap rolls up for sale, of a hundred different designs, some plain, some checkered, some printed with cartoons, or festive slogans, or glossy with metallic ink that gleamed in the light.

Most of it, the toys dared not touch: it was wrapped in plastic, and anything wrapped in plastic was Forbidden. It wasn’t allowed to exist yet.

But some wrapping paper was left out overnight, scraps of it discarded after the toymaker’s helpers used it to decorate customers’ purchases. It was heaped in the recycling can, or littered around the rug.

Plenty of toys here liked to learn how to make objects from the paper. Dean in particular had a fondness for the stiffer, heavier types, since that stuff was great for construction. Tonight he’d taught Castiel how to make a paper spinning top, and now they and their friends sat on very edge of the rug, surrounded by felt tip pens and crayons, decorating their spinning tops so they could tell them apart.

Dean was done first – he was never an artistic fellow – and he knelt forward, spinning his top on the floorboards. Its colours blurred into a grey blob, then became a swirl, then made Dean dizzy for one split second before it fell over.

Castiel was still drawing delicate stars on his spinning top. Donna and Charlie had teamed up, making multiple smaller tops instead of one big one. Sam did his own thing, but paused with his red crayon resting over his shoulder, eyes trained on a newcomer.

The little brown sock dog shuffled up to them, his pink velvet tongue only slightly poked out from his mouth. He seemed interested, but sat down quietly when Sam offered him some paper.

Dean caught the dog’s eyes. “ _You okay?_ ” he asked.

The dog licked his nose. Then he lay down with his chin on his front paws, looking sad.

Castiel noticed, and immediately abandoned his spinning top to approach the dog. He offered a hand, then a head-pat, then knelt beside the soft toy, stroking his fuzzy back.

The dog sighed.

Castiel stood up, shooing the dog. Dean frowned, wondering why he’d do that – until he realised Castiel intended to follow.

Where Castiel went, Dean went. Where Dean went, Sam followed. Soon Dean found himself near the front of a parade of curious toys, all wanting to see where such a sad-looking dog would go.

The dog led them right to a bookcase, an inch of wood raised off the floor. Books protruded off the wooden base, and Dean saw such titles as _Origami for Beginners_ and _The Paper Hatmaker_. He’d read them all in his spare time, so he didn’t pay them much attention. But when the dog began to paw at the spines of the books, Dean began to realise something was wrong.

Castiel crouched down, trying to comfort the dog. The little animal didn’t have the ability to show tears rolling down his face, like the painted toys did, but even Dean could see the dog was miserable. His floppy ears were sagging low, his stitched mouth was the wrong way up, and his wee tail had not a smidgen of wag left in it.

The dog sat, and kind of... drooped.

Dean and Castiel shared a concerned look, then together turned to look at the bookshelf cubby. After taking a quick look around, Dean came to an uncomfortable conclusion.

They’d been here just a few nights ago, looking for the squirrel’s pair. This bookshelf cubby used to be the dog’s quiet hideout – a comfy kennel – and now it was full of books.

With a determined punch to his hand, Dean went forward and began to pull out the books. Sam helped, so Dean wasn’t left teetering under the weight of _Folded Flowers: An Illustrated Guide_.

As the whole group worked together, they revealed the cubby as it once was. But it was empty, stripped of its tinsel nest, and all the little knick-knacks the dog had ‘borrowed’ and brought home to make his space his own. Anything that once made the cubby homely was... absent.

The dog trotted in, sniffing around, then left again. Obviously it wasn’t right, it wasn’t the _same_.

But as Dean looked to Sam, about to ask what they could do, he realised with a jolt that he himself might have been the only one who understood. Sam wandered along to the next cubby, pointing it out with his eyes on the dog. “ _What about this one?_ ” he asked, patting a book.

Dean shook his head, just as the dog tucked his tail between his legs.

Sam frowned. “ _This one? That one!_ ” He kept pointing out cubbies – some empty, some with books inside – but the poor dog only looked more and more wretched.

Shaking his head vehemently, Dean stormed forward to take Sam’s arm, keeping his brother from offering yet another space. When Sam, then Charlie, then Donna looked at Dean in confusion, Dean sighed.

His gaze went to Castiel, admiring those unique blue eyes, ever so patient; his coat was sewn up, his subtle smile remaining ever-present, much like his squinty frown. With a gulp, Dean shrugged, eyes lowering to the floor. “ _The first one was_ special _,_ ” he said, knowing the others would read his lips.

There’d be no replacing something so perfect, with all its perks and quirks. Whether it was a home or a friend, once the right one was found, no other could match it.

Dean looked over at the dog, glad to see a mini tail-wag. He understood, and the dog knew he _got_ it, now.

Slowly, Charlie raised a hand. When everyone looked her way, she shrugged with the same hand. She gestured to a cubby that was already empty, then shrugged again. “ _Can’t we make_ that _one special too?_ ”

The others started to nod encouragingly, and Dean immediately felt like both him and the dog had been misunderstood. They couldn’t just _replace_ something like that—!

But the others were already on it. Charlie rushed off, leaping onto a wicker ladder, presumably to go fetch something from her own cubby. Donna tumbled off, a determined look on her soft face. She stopped by the robot on her way, and soon Dean heard the alert bleeping of a message well-received.

Left alone with Castiel, Sam, and the dog, Dean shook his head. They all had it wrong, but there wasn’t much he could do now they had bees in their bonnets.

In the meantime, while everyone was gone, they returned the books to the first cubby. The dog didn’t seem to care at all, he just flopped on the floor, staring at nothing.

When Charlie and Donna came back, they came bearing gifts, and so did the robot and the velvet elephant.

Dean gave a deep nod to the elephant, as she was very old and very kind, and thus deserved great respect.

The elephant had brought some of her own tinsel from her clock. She gifted it to the dog, laying it at his feet. The dog wasn’t sure what was going on at first, but after an encouraging glance from Castiel, he accepted the tinsel, lifting it in his mouth. He gave a tail-wag, then went into his new cubby and lay the tinsel down, ready to make a nest later.

When the dog left the cubby, the elephant gently petted his head. Dean smiled, shooting Sam a smile.

Charlie offered the dog an abacus, just one inch across. It was technically a tree ornament, but it was functional, and probably fun to rattle and shake. The dog put it into his cubby, then went back out.

Donna gifted one of her plastic teacups, one Dean had seen her use often. It had to be one of her favourites.

The robot gave the dog a building block, which Dean and Sam helped to place inside.

Dean could see how cute the place was shaping up to be, and the gifts from friends made it all the sweeter. The cubby was starting to look like a home again, maybe better-decorated than the first one. Yet, understandably, the dog _didn’t_ look as if all his dreams had come true. It was good, sure, but it was _different_.

Sam didn’t have a gift for the dog. He shrugged, and marched on the spot, saluted with his bayonet, then beamed brightly. Dean got what he meant. What made Sam feel at home was a sense of regularity, and familiarity – like when he went marching with the other soldiers. Granted, he’d barely done that this past week or so, but his new patterns included hanging out with friends. With a smile, he gestured to them all. They were his troupe now.

Castiel went forward, entering the cubby. He looked around, then took off his hat. He placed it against the wall, as if hanging it – but there was no hook; he was only miming the action. He lowered the hat, plucking at his trenchcoat, as if about to pull it off. Dean knew: Castiel’s home was a place he could hang his hat, and be himself.

One by one, the other toys looked towards Dean. He hadn’t given a gift, or explained why.

Dean folded his arms, uncomfortable. He didn’t have anything to give, nor did he have a neat bit of advice so the dog could achieve maximum comfort.

Throwing up his hands, Dean turned and walked away. He’d think of something, he just needed a few minutes.

He turned as he realised the dog was scampering after him, tongue lolling, tail wagging.

Dean marched across the rug, head full of thoughts. What was home for him? Where did he go when he was tired, or lonely, or had had enough of the other toys?

He looked up at the windowsill, marked by the gift wrap rolls lain out on the poster drawers.

He looked over at the shelf where he froze still every morning, standing in line beside his fellow soldiers.

He looked back to his friends, who all waited for him by the bookcase.

And he looked down at the little dog, who panted at his feet, wearing a big happy smile. _Weird_ , Dean thought – the dog seemed much happier hanging out with him than he had in his new home. Was he expecting Dean to do something? Give him something?

Dean bent down and patted the dog’s head. The dog got up on all fours, wagging his little tail faster than Dean’s eyes could see. He licked Dean’s hand, and Dean laughed, standing straight and shaking the fuzzy-velvet feeling off his wooden hand.

It almost seemed...

No...

No, that couldn’t be...?

Dean raised his painted eyebrows in realisation.

Still stunned, he made his way back to the group. The dog trotted at his heels, bouncy as ever.

When Castiel saw Dean’s bewildered expression, he rushed to him, taking his hand. But Dean just smiled, squeezing once before letting go. He gestured to Castiel – then Sam, then Charlie, Donna, the robot, the elephant – and then, finally the dog.

Dean touched his heart with both hands, clutching his clothes tight.

His home was with the people he loved the most.

The dog didn’t need _things_. They were all nice things, of course, and they’d been given with love, but what really made the little sock dog happy was... this. Dean knelt down on one knee, levelling his face with the dog’s. He petted his new friend, glad to see true joy in those teeny-tiny button eyes.

The places, the things, they didn’t matter. Dean could be anywhere, with nothing, but if he still had this group of special friends around him, he’d be absolutely content.

The dog couldn’t climb up the brass tabs on the poster drawers, so Dean fashioned a harness from a deconstructed spinning top and Castiel’s lasso, and together they lifted the dog up.

Heave!

_Heave!_

_H e a v e !_

With a silent yap of delight, the dog bounded up to the window, paws on the frosty glass. He’d never seen snow, and his tail wagged with excitement at the new experience.

Giving his cowboy buddy a fond look, Dean joined Castiel on the resin log, handing back the lasso. The toyshop’s ambience rambled on behind them, but like so many times before, they left that world behind, and became immersed in another one.

Yet Dean’s mind was still bristling with thoughts about tonight.

Someday, he’d be adopted – and that was a _big_ right of passage for toys. Someday Dean would have a human, and he’d make a new home with them. Perhaps, over the years, he’d come to know several homes, represented by places, or people. Such was the way with old toys.

But until that time came, this was everything he needed. A special friend. A smaller, sillier friend – who tried licking the window to see what would happen. Castiel laughed, and Dean laughed, and they reached for their dog, stroking his soft head to calm him.

_This_ was where Dean felt most at home. Hanging out with Cas gave him the sort of safety and comfort that allowed him to be himself without judgement. And, as he met Castiel’s eyes, he saw the promise for more – adventure, and mighty thrills – but never a moment where Dean felt unloved, or untrusting.

Not for the first time, Dean wished he could show how he felt. Holding hands was one thing – it was almost easy now, and although it caused Dean’s heart to flip halfway over every time their hands slid together, it wasn’t _enough_. There _had_ to be some other way to express how he felt. Castiel needed to _understand_.

There was one thing Dean had done with Jewel, as a symbol of love, that he hadn’t yet put into practice with Castiel; something Dean craved. He and Cas had done something similar, only a few nights ago: they’d spun together on the icy pond, embracing, almost dancing.

But not _properly_ dancing. Not swaying and sauntering to music.

Dean wanted that. He looked hopefully at Castiel, opening his mouth, trying to find a way to ask.

But now the clock neared five, and Dean heard the chaos of all the toys making their way back home. To shelves, to boxes, to the top of the clock. There was no time left.

Tomorrow night, then. Dean had decided.

He stood, still holding Castiel’s hand. Castiel stood up too, expecting Dean to speak – but Dean only hugged him, holding tight and closing his eyes.

Castiel hugged back, sinking into Dean’s touch.

When Dean pulled back... he again felt that urge. Wanting to be closer, more loving, but not knowing _how_.

Tomorrow night, he’d ask Cas to dance. And maybe then he’d figure out how to demonstrate how he felt. Maybe they could become closer than any toys in this enchanted toyshop had ever been before.

Tomorrow night. It wasn’t long to wait.

With a smile and a wave, Dean left Castiel and their dog behind at the window, returning to his place on the shelf. No, he was no longer a soldier. But until he knew how to _show_ how he’d changed, and what he’d become instead, he couldn’t yet call himself Castiel’s one true love.

Tomorrow night. He’d find a way.


	7. Wishes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dean makes a wish.

While frozen, Dean’s view from the shelf was limited. If no customer picked him up, he did not move at all, and his gaze remained steady. He was stationed three feet from the ground – barely high up enough to see over the toymaker’s central barricade. When a crowd gathered, all he saw were back pockets and bags and the crowns of children’s heads.

On very rare occasions, the crowd parted, and Dean could see Castiel, up there on his four-foot solitary plinth. There were other cowboy toys now, stacked in boxes around Castiel’s display. Dean didn’t know them personally, but he’d seen them around.

Occasionally, people would pick Castiel up in interest. Whenever that happened, the toymaker would suddenly get up from the workbench, and insist the customer purchased a similar-looking boxed model instead; Castiel was _display only_.

Sometimes Dean wondered if Castiel would _ever_ be sold. Maybe he’d become like the old rocking horse, not for sale. Perhaps someday he’d be one of the oldest toys here, and wake up on the tenth chime, or the ninth. One day, if he existed for long enough, he might even wake up on the first chime, like the leather mouse.

But... if Castiel was not for sale... And Dean _was_...

Dean knew this day would come.

Someone picked Dean up from his shelf. A dark, warm hand cocooned his body, a thumb testing the texture of his military jacket. A big adult face smiled down at him, then... moved him into a basket.

Dean began to panic immediately. Oh no. Oh no. Oh no, oh no! Sam! _Cas!_

“Excuse me,” the toymaker said, in a kind, rolling voice. The customer carrying Dean in her basket turned, looking at the toymaker. The toymaker smiled. “The toy soldiers are currently on sale; two for the price of one. I recommend this fellow here.” The toymaker presented the lady with Sam.

Dean’s acorn trembled inside him. Please please please _please_ please—

“Oh, they come in pairs, do they?” The lady accepted the second soldier and slid him in next to Dean. “Don’t mind if I do. My daughter loves these sorts of toys. Thank you.”

Relief washed over Dean, but his heart was still uneasy. What about all his other friends...?

What about _Cas_?!

The basket was moved to the front desk, where the cash register _ding!_ ed, and crumpled sheets of green paper swapped hands. Dean remained locked in position, arms at his sides, his bayonet clutched in his hand. His eyes stared directly ahead...

And as he was lifted from the basket, he got one last sweeping view of the toyshop.

The Christmas lights. The bookshelves; the grandfather clock with the velvet elephant watching over the shop; the leather mouse sitting on the clock ledge, waiting for the hands to reach midnight. The robot, making pre-programmed towers. A rainbow shelf of teddy bears, Donna somewhere among the blue stripe. And Castiel, all alone on his display-only plinth. Staring blankly ahead.

For one moment, one fraction of a second, their eyes met.

And then Dean was inside a bag with Sam, squished in with white packing paper. Light from outside filtered through the bag, but the pleasant haze wasn’t enough to stifle the anguish Dean felt in that moment.

From the bottom of the bag, he could only see one thing: the magic star at the top of the toyshop’s Christmas tree. It glowed in gold, radiating endless magic. With all his heart, and every last scrap of feeling he had, Dean wished on that magic star. He couldn’t think in words, he was breaking apart and words were too hard. He simply wished in feelings. He thought of his friends, and how much he wanted them close to him. He couldn’t bear to be apart forever.

_Please_ , Dean begged the star. _P l e a s e..._

Toys were only meant to feel joy. Dean was meant to look forward to his new life. But he immediately began to grieve for what he was losing. All his playmates. His best friend. And his home.

The bag was carried away, and sight of the star, the pale ambience, and the familiar clatter of the shop vanished. Darkness reigned.

Somewhere, unheard, the clock struck midnight.

Dean only knew because he came to life. The world was silent. He toppled forwards into packing paper, not caring to right himself. His life was over. This whole bag could be thrown in the fire by mistake and he wouldn’t even try to escape.

Sam rustled beside Dean.

Tap-tap! on the shoulder.

Dean stirred.

Sam tapped him again.

Dean ignored his brother, watching him kick and struggle his way out of the bag. The packing paper was smacked away, and a ball of it fell out. Dean realised the bag had been left on its side, and now moonlight filled the bag with silvery blue.

Sam stood on a soft, squishy furnishing outside, looking around. He bent down, beckoning to Dean.

Dean turned his face, hiding his eyes in a ball of paper. He didn’t want to.

But Sam was too determined: he reached inside, grabbed Dean, and pulled him out. Dean struggled, not caring to appreciate the bedroom before them: they were at the end of a huge bed, blankets piled up underfoot. In the bed was a sleeping human. A three-part window was directly ahead, and through a gap in the drapes, a rainbow of sparkling Christmas lights showed through.

Dean yanked his arm out of Sam’s grip, glaring at him. He turned to go back inside the bag. Yet something caught his eye, and he stilled. Another toyshop bag was lying right next to this one.

Dean dropped his bayonet and stumbled across the plush blanket, heart hammering in him, hopes and expectations rising with a fiery-eyed smile as he dropped to his knees and began digging through balled-up paper. Cas had to be here somewhere. Come on. Come _on_ —

Donna rubbed at her button eyes with her plaid paw, smiling when she saw Dean’s face. Although a rush of delight ran through Dean’s wood grain, he shook his head and kept digging. He had to be here. He _had_ to be.

Charlie emerged, her glasses askew and her red hair a mess. Dean let her hug him, but his eyes stared into the bag. It was empty now.

Cas wasn’t here.

Dean covered his eyes with both hands and started to cry. He felt big blue droplets painting their way down his cheeks, vanishing once they reached his chin. He didn’t know what to do. It was somehow _worse_ now, being given a moment of hope, hope that maybe Cas had been bought after all, and having his hope crushed into a thousand tiny pieces.

Of course he was grateful to be surrounded by friends – friends who hugged him, and took off his hat to stroke his hair, and bundled up around him to offer group comfort – but Dean was nevertheless distraught.

He was never going to see Cas again.

He was never going to find the right way to show him how much he loved him.

They were never going to dance. Tonight was the night Dean was going to ask, and now he never could.

This was the worst night of Dean’s entire existence.

They had five hours until they froze again, and Dean’s friends refused to let it go wasted. They took Dean’s hands and made sure he joined in, as they went off exploring the bedroom.

Dean quickly resigned himself to their pulling and tugging: his wish hadn’t come true, and there was no use moping about it. He decided to have as much fun as he possibly could, in the hope that he’d feel better afterwards, like his friends advised.

There was a rug on the floor, and dust under the bed, plus an empty box for a fake Christmas tree, which had probably been set up somewhere else. There were big grown-up books piled up on the nightstand – and some of them had pictures (Sam checked). But most of the pictures were drawings of hands, which was strange.

Six pairs of shoes in the closet, one with tall heels. 

One hat... A cowboy hat...?

No, a fedora...

The smile he’d worked so hard on had vanished from Dean’s face. He turned away from the hat, not wanting anyone to see him cry again. He just wanted to crawl back to the bag and stay there.

Charlie led everyone to a small bookshelf, eager to investigate the titles – but Dean’s heart was no longer in it. He kept having to wipe tears off his face over and over, and the moment Donna noticed, and patted Charlie to draw her attention, Dean left his friends behind and clambered back up onto the bed, pulling himself up with a trailing corner of the bedsheets. The others let him go, although they exchanged worried glances.

Dean sat quietly in his sanctuary, flattening out some of the packing paper.

When the others had been gone a while, he started to make things out of the paper, just to take his mind off the void inside him. But when he looked at what he’d made, his acorn shattered all over again.

A cowboy hat. Just like Castiel’s.

Sam returned to find Dean weeping again, sprawled amongst a dozen paper cowboy hats, hugging his own jacket like a pillow. There was no encouraging smile left for Sam to give; he simply sat by Dean and kept a hand on his shoulder, just so he knew he wasn’t alone.

After an hour or so, Donna patted her paw on the bag’s top, knocking hello.

She and Charlie entered, pulling a collection of paper. Dean sat up, realising it was a magazine. He was all out of tears now, and Sam had given him enough hugs that he felt... okay. He was always on the verge of tears, but he had regained the self-control to keep a straight face.

“ _Look,_ ” Charlie said, opening up the magazine.

She and Donna had found a fun game: a dot-to-dot puzzle. That ought to keep Dean occupied, right? Donna handed over a pencil stub.

Dean glumly accepted, and began to draw from the dot marked 1.

They worked together, all kneeling on the paper, pointing out the next place Dean had to draw his line. From dot to dot they travelled, slowly forming a picture from all the disconnected spots.

Sam tilted and turned his head, wondering what the picture was.

Charlie got it first, and she brightened, tapping her hand on the caption below. Dean finished up the drawing, not bothering to read with the others.

He’d drawn the faces of two people, viewed in profile. One woman had her hair tied up in a fancy ribbon, and one man had his hair cut a bit like Castiel’s, with a neat side part. They both wore shy smiles, and their eyes were closed. They leaned in, pressing their faces together at the mouth.

Dean didn’t understand the gesture. What a strange way to say hello.

Up above, part of the drawing had already been completed by the printer. Dean now recognised the squiggles as a plant offcut, decorated with a ribbon. But what the heck did it all mean? Humans were such mysteries.

Donna patted Dean on the arm, smiling at him. She gestured to the drawing, then the written caption.

Dean raised his eyebrows, both careless and curious.

Donna left the bag, waddling out into the moonlight on her soft paws. She pointed to the plant drawing, then pretended to lift it, holding it waaay up high.

Then Charlie went out, acting like she was strolling along, minding her own business. She bumped right into Donna’s soft velvet tummy, and had to adjust her glasses. Then Sam went out, nonchalantly walking backwards until he bumped into Charlie.

They faced each other, grinning. Charlie pointed up at the imagined plant Donna held.

And Sam leaned in, like the man in the dot-to-dot drawing. Charlie leaned in too.

_Pock!_ Their wooden noses bumped. They leaned away from each other, rubbing their faces, laughing to themselves.

Dean opened his mouth in a slow realisation. He didn’t need to see a full demonstration to understand, it seemed fairly simple to him. Underneath a hanging plant, two people... two toys... they could greet each other in that way. Touching faces.

K... I... S... S.

Charlie drew the letters in the air.

“ _Kiss_ ,” Dean mouthed to himself.

That was it! That was what he’d wanted! A way to be closer to Castiel, to express exactly how he felt. It was like a hug, but different! He’d wanted a _kiss_.

Dean began to smile.

Sam, Donna, and Charlie immediately rejoiced, so glad to see Dean looking less upset. But it couldn’t last. Very quickly, the tears began to fall again, and Dean just let them drip from his painted eyes, drowning his vision.

He’d never missed anyone or anything so dreadfully. He’d never _loved_ this much. And he’d never lost anything so dear.

During the weeks Dean spent with Cas, forming a connection, then a friendship, then an unbreakable, profound bond – they’d helped a community of toys who found they were missing something. Dean and Cas found those things, and restored joy to their friends.

But now Dean was missing something. He was missing Cas, the love of his life. The pain he felt was near-incomprehensible. Through his grief, he tried to explain it to his friends – his family, now, he supposed.

Dean looked at Donna, and touched her chest, then the stitches on her back where the toymaker had expertly fixed up Sam’s first attempts at sewing. As Dean looked into Donna’s eyes, he explained he felt like he was missing _his_ stuffing, too. His acorn heart was broken apart.

Dean looked at Sam, and Charlie, and pointed to his feet. He hid away one foot. He felt like he was missing his sock pair. Socks came in twos. And Dean was one of a pair, even though he and Castiel didn’t quite match.

Then Dean looked away from them all, both hands cupped worriedly over his heart. He didn’t know how to explain it, but he felt like he was missing the magic star for the top of his tree. The finishing touch that made the thing whole. The soul of the season, the symbol that told the whole story if someone already knew the tale. The best, the brightest light. It was gone from his life.

These were the reasons for his tears. After all the toys he and Castiel had helped, giving them completion, companionship, a home, or love, they were allowed none of the same things for themselves. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t _fair_.

Dean felt his family cuddle up around him, holding him tight.

Though Dean was aching, he did manage another little smile.

He was still loved. And he would never really be alone.

Christmas would arrive in just a few nights. Perhaps, with the help of his family, there was a chance Dean could find happiness again before then.


	8. Mistletoe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which happiness is found.

It went like this.

1\. The soldiers were laid out flat on their backs, staring at the ceiling.

2\. They were wrapped up in tissue paper – Sam in white, Dean in red.

3\. Roll, roll, roll, with tissue bunched up under their arms; between their necks and tightly-clutched bayonets. (It tickled, and Dean would’ve laughed if he hadn’t been totally immobile.)

4\. Each packaged soldier was then swaddled in gift paper, and taped secure.

5\. A ribbon (well, probably a ribbon) was fastened around their waists, tied up all fancy.

6\. They were carried... some distance away... down some stairs...

Of course Dean was now blinded by the wrapping, but he could still hear. He heard the plasticy _ticketty-tup_ of tree ornaments being rearranged to make space for a parcel – and _he_ was the parcel. He felt the nudge of another gift-wrapped present lain down next to him. Then another, then another.

Surges of excitement crept through him. Mourning be damned, he thought – this was his _moment_. This was what toys were _for_ , and he wasn’t going to let his soul-crushing sadness ruin it for him.

Some quiet, contemplative hours later, more boxes were set down; they rattled, but sounded mostly hollow. The distant sound of a record player filled Dean’s black world, and it was a small grace that he recognised the songs. He heard adult laughter – a man and a woman – and a child’s excitement about the gifts, awaiting the special day.

“Uh-uh! Not yet! Tomorrow, my darling,” said the lady who bought the toys. “You can open all your presents tomorrow. Including Uncle Edwin’s.”

It had to be Christmas Eve.

Dean spent the next twenty-four hours imagining his new life. Even once the clock struck midnight, he didn’t move an inch, so simply lay there, thinking about all the games the child might play. Though Dean’s heart ached, he still managed to smile, lost in fantasy after fantasy.

All toys knew that children were imaginative creatures. Some little tyke could have a velvet bear, a ninja ballerina, and two toy soldiers, and there was nothing keeping them from transporting them all to the Old West.

In this way, Dean realised he could never forget Castiel. He’d be reminded of him in a hundred different ways, in a hundred different make-believe games, and the memories would bring him joy.

With this hopeful promise filling him up, Dean made it through to Christmas.

“Which one do you want to open first, my darling?” The woman’s warm voice was barely muffled through the gift wrap; her smile was obvious in her words.

“Umm. Dis one!” cried a young voice. A scrunch of paper met Dean’s ears, and he heard a happy squeal, and some garbled exclamations. He caught the word ‘teddy’, and a few moments later, the word ‘glasses’, and could only conclude that Donna and Charlie were the first to be unwrapped.

“How about that blue box with the gold ribbon, now?” the mother suggested. “Uncle Edwin wrapped it up so nice.”

“Can I open dis one?” the girl asked, and Dean startled as he felt a warm, grabby hand on his wrapping. “I like da bow.”

“Oh, she didn’t hear me,” the mother said softly.

A deeper, slower voice said, “She’ll open mine next, Maya. Go on, Mickie. Pull the bow – like this, see. Aha! Yes, you can keep the ribbon.”

The little girl – Mickie – giggled as she opened up Dean’s wrapping. Dean first saw her face, and happiness overcame him in a rush. Mickie’s dark-ochre skin was glowing with reflected fairy lights, her big, round eyes were black and gleaming with joy, and Dean had never seen a smile _so_ expressive. She lifted Dean up, and Dean saw the living room before him: two older people with even darker skin sat cross-legged on a rug, a real fire in the hearth, a dimly-lit kitchen in the background.

Mickie lowered Dean to her heart and gave him a hug. “He’s so handsome. What a cool hat, Mr. Soldier. You look verrry smart.”

 _Well, thank you very much, ma’am_ , Dean thought, beaming inside.

“He has a friend,” said the mother, Maya, offering Mickie another wrapped gift. At first Mickie ignored her, already obsessed with Dean, but at a soft tap on her arm from Uncle Edwin, Mickie turned, and her smile grew. “Oh!”

She opened up the second gift, and for a while, she bounced on her thighs, so happy to have two soldiers to play with.

“I’mma put dem in da house!” Mickie announced, getting up and hurrying to the side of the room. Dean could’ve gasped at the sight: airborne, he approached a magnificent dollhouse with an open side, and a cardboard sign on the roof read _MiCKiE’S MAnSiOn_.

Was this for _him_? Did he and Sam really get to _live_ here?

Dean was dizzy with delight, and Mickie’s determined hands were all that kept him from falling right over. He was placed in the dollhouse bedroom, divulged of his kepi hat, and he stood on his own two feet, staring out at Mickie’s family room as she rushed back to her mother and uncle. “Dey’re getting used to da house, iss a big change,” Mickie informed the adults, matter-of-factly.

Well, Dean thought, she wasn’t wrong.

Uncle Edwin lifted the blue box with the golden ribbon, offering it in his niece's direction. “How ‘bout this one, now?”

It was quite a small box, but it seemed a perfect size in Mickie’s hands.

“I had a funny time pickin’ those out,” Uncle Edwin said, his faded, wrinkly eyes turning to Maya, with a gentle smile on his face. “I picked up a fella I quite liked the look of – and the seller got right up and told me that it was a display model, but he was all battered around the edges. They was thinkin’ of changing the fella out for a new one, but I said— Mickie?” He made sure Mickie was looking at him directly before he went on, “I said it don’t matter what nicks and scratches the toy’s got already. Just shows he’s special. And we’ll love him all the same. Ain’t that right?”

“Uh-huh,” Mickie said, nodding, so her big bush of black hair bobbed around her ears. “Can I open it now pleeeease.”

Edwin gavea chuckle, quite similar to Maya’s simultaneous laugh, but somehow dustier. He nodded deeply, reaching to pat his niece's cheek. “Go for it, my love. The toymaker told me I had to buy his friends too, so he’d be happy. Gave him to me half-price just to make sure I’d take ‘em all. Now I couldn’t pass that up, could I.”

With a flurry of excitement, Mickie undid the ribbon with one expert pull, then lifted the box lid. Dean saw her eyes widen, and she drew in a gasp of awe, hands reaching in to lift out...

The sock dog!

The sock dog?! Dean was ecstatic, relieved, and _thrilled_... and also disappointed. He forced the feeling aside, desperate to enjoy the moment.

Mickie reached in again, lifting out...

A little horse!

Wait... Dean _knew_ that horse. It was supposed to be a tree ornament, with golden reins and a painted red rocking axis. Dean knew how it yawned, and loved to be tickled behind its ears!

Surely that meant...

Dean watched with his acorn about ready to burst, as Mickie reached into the box one more time.

The world seemed to slow down, and Mickie moved only inches a second as she took hold of the box’s final gift... raising it in her hands...

Dean first saw a hat. A brown felt cowboy hat.

The collar of a tan coat. Stitches on the elbow.

Spurs on the heels of his boots.

Castiel. There he was, held carefully in Mickie’s loving hands. Mickie’s smile was unparalleled, and Dean could only assume she smiled for him too, as he couldn’t. Prickles of tears sparkled in Mickie’s eyes, and she rushed for her uncle, barrelling into him for a hug.

“I love it I love it I love it!” she squealed, wrapping her arms around her uncle’s shoulders, squeezing him tight. Edwin laughed, his speckly face crinkling up with fine black lines. Mickie flung herself at her mother next, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “Tank you Mamma. Tank you tankyoooou.”

She ran back a few steps and knelt down, chattering away to herself as she put Castiel onto the back of his horse, but the horse was so small that its rocking axis and Castiel’s boots both touched the rug as Mickie set them down. “Neighhh,” Mickie whinnied, making Castiel trot along. “Arf arf arf!” The little dog bounded after them, ears flapping as it went. “Yeeeee-hah!”

Maya and Uncle Edwin grinned together, and their faces looked so similar that Dean finally realised they were brother and sister. Edwin was much, much older, but they looked like twins when they smiled.

Dean looked back to Castiel.

Cas was really _here_.

The magic star really did make Dean’s wish come true!

Dean was light-headed. Part of him couldn’t believe he was this lucky, but another part of him knew... the toymaker had always taken care of them. _Of course_ every possible course of action would be taken just so best friends could stay together once they left the toyshop. The more unbelievable thing was the fact Dean had ever doubted in the magic at all.

This was their home now. This was their family. They were all together.

This was the best day of Dean’s entire existence.

~

Dean didn’t think Cas even knew. Mickie played with them separately – Castiel went galloping around a farm, while Dean and Sam played at being kings. Charlie went between them, swooping around to relay messages about dwindling food supplies and the inevitable uprising of the people.

Although they were part of the same game, Castiel never saw Dean, up there in his royal mansion. Dean could only watch as Mickie made Castiel lead a battalion of yellow Lego people to fight Donna, the teddy bear overlord of the nearby kingdom. Once Castiel and his army prevailed, he returned to his own kingdom alone, taking shelter under the Christmas tree for the night.

Mickie made Dean and Donna get married, to bring peace to the kingdoms, but throughout the whole ceremony, Dean’s eyes were set on Castiel. His heart belonged to the lone ranger, the toy with nothing to his name but a tiny horse and a faithful sock dog.

Still, Dean was pleased with their game. He’d never been played with like that – given a new story, and a new world. The winding ribbons of the tale all fell away, all but forgotten, as Maya called Mickie to bed.

Only Mickie didn’t hear her, so Maya came up close, and signalled with her hands.

Mickie seemed to understand the gesture, which fascinated Dean.

A language made of hand movements? _Awesome_!

Mickie left behind her toys, all crammed into the dollhouse – but she kept Castiel in her hand, telling her mother about how the cowboy had single-handedly saved all the kingdom’s peasants from starvation, by distributing food Charlie had been secretly stealing from the kings. Maya led Mickie to the kitchen, pouring her a glass of milk, the gulping of which interrupted her retelling of the story.

Dean lost sight of both Mickie and Castiel a few moments later. He heard the humans climbing the stairs, probably to go to bed.

There was a clock somewhere in this living room. It ticked, ticked, ticked.

Night had fallen long ago. The Christmas tree was switched off, and the drapes were drawn shut. A single blue streak of moonlight cut the room in two, reflecting a dull haze across the rug, enough to light a path to the kitchen.

Hours passed.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

Somewhere in the darkness, the minute hand joined the hour hand at the top of the clockface, and their points aligned.

Tick. _Tock_.

The clock sang its song, higher in pitch than the toyshop’s grandfather clock, but the tune was just as beautiful and familiar.

Ten chimes.

Eleven.

Dean blink-blink-blinked.

Twelve.

Dean turned to look around his dollhouse bedroom, reaching to hit the wall and turn on the tiny lightbulb in the ceiling. The bed was a bit too small for him, but it had flowers painted on the headboard. Smiling, Dean looked for Sam, and saw him crawling through the too-small door between the rooms.

They shared a grin. What a special, special night.

Dean and Sam linked hands, then drew each other in for a hug. They squeezed, then fell apart, beaming. Dean cocked his head towards the living room, and together they clambered out of the dollhouse, boots down onto the carpet.

From the carpet, they went to the rug, where all at once they were rushed at by Charlie, her black cloak swooping around Dean and Sam’s backs as she embraced them together. She straightened her wire glasses as she backed up, a massive grin on her face.

Together they looked around for Donna, and she ambled towards them, wearing a paper crown. Once she got close she applied a joking kiss to Dean’s cheek. Dean wiped it away, rolling his eyes. Donna ruffled a paw in his face, and they both laughed.

The dog shot up to them, barking silently, wrinkling up the rug as it scampered around and around and around the group, overjoyed to see them again. Dean crouched to give the dog a big hug – then backed away, surprised to see a ripped price tag had been tied around his neck with baker’s twine. {rcent of}, it said.

Rcentof? A weird name for a dog, but okay. Dean gave Rcentof an ear waggle and watched him dart away, heading towards the kitchen at great speed.

Where was he going?

Dean looked around at his friends, who collectively decided to follow the dog.

Across the rug they went, navigating discarded wrapping paper, a ribbon, and a dozen yellow Lego people – none of whom had acorn hearts, and thus no sentience.

Halfway to the kitchen, Sam bent down and picked up the baby rocking horse, carrying it, so it could come with them without struggling to move.

But where were they going? They left the living room and entered the kitchen, where checkered black-and-white tiles made up the floor. They were almost as cold as ice underfoot, and Dean would know.

The sock dog yapped, circling the four legs of a wooden dinner table, sniffing at a dropped parsnip, then carrying on, leading the troupe all the way to a moonlit square on the tiles.

Dean looked up, and although he didn’t see the moon from this angle, he could see a star in the night sky, through the window above the kitchen sink.

A single star. A _magic_ star.

Stars were made for following.

With a determined punch to his hand, Dean looked around for a kitchen chair. He spotted one, and ran to it. With Sam’s help, he climbed onto a carved rung that supported the legs, then he swung up onto the seat.

From here, he could see almost all of the kitchen.

There were two silhouettes against the window. The first was a plant, hanging down from above, outside. The other was a toy figurine, standing on the sill. The figure was only little, but the shape of the darkness was obvious against a clear night sky.

Cowboy hat. Long coat. Castiel peered out at the settled snow.

This was their moment. This was when _all_ of Dean’s wishes came true.

Dean didn’t have a lasso, so couldn’t get over there as easily as Castiel probably did. So how could he get there?

Peering over the chair seat, Dean waved to his friends. He waggled his hands, trying to make them understand what he needed. It took some time – oh, what Dean wouldn’t give to know Mickie’s hand-motion language – but eventually the others understood.

With all of them bundled against two of the chair legs, they began to push.

Heave! The chair slid across the tiles. Castiel startled at the awful scraping noise.

 _Heave!_ Castiel turned, alarmed by the sight of a chair approaching the kitchen sink, seemingly under its own steam.

_H e a v e !_

Castiel looked down, and saw Dean climb up and over the edge of the kitchen sink.

Dean walked the narrow edge with his arms out, fearless of the heights on either side, dirty dishes on his left, or a nearly four-foot drop to the floor on his right.

As Dean rounded the draining rack, and hopped up onto the windowsill, he found his hand welcomed by another.

Dean looked up. Castiel’s eyes and gaping mouth showed absolute disbelief, awe – and utter _joy_ at seeing Dean again.

“ _I... I thought...?_ ” Castiel managed, shaking his head. A smile blazed onto his face, and wibbly blue paint blobs appeared under his blue oval eyes.

“ _I didn’t think I’d ever see you again, either,_ ” Dean finished, stepping closer to his friend. Their hands entwined, their hearts almost touching.

Castiel’s shoulders sank, as if two nights of sadness fell away, relief overcoming him. His smile was the kind of smile that illustrated complete inner peace. Dean had never seen anyone look so content.

Dean flustered as he realised a tear escaped his own eye. Chuckling shyly, he wiped it away – only for Castiel to stop him, wooden hand curled against Dean’s chin.

Dean met his eyes again.

This was it. This was the time to finally show Castiel how he felt about him, and for the first time in his existence, Dean knew how to do it.

He turned his eyes up, pointing at the plant that grew above. Dean didn’t know or care if it was mistletoe; it was leafy so it counted. Castiel saw the plant, then looked at Dean curiously.

Dean leaned in, his face nearing Castiel’s. He closed his eyes and pressed his painted lips to Castiel’s.

Dean peeked open one eye – saw Castiel blink a few times, then... relax.

They kissed, holding hands.

The pressure in Dean’s little acorn heart was immense, dizzying. With just this one kiss, he felt his heart swell with joy, so much that the feeling took him over completely. It was magic! And there was too much of it – not just in Dean, but all around. In the house, in the sky, in the planet stretching out beyond the horizon. It grew and grew and grew, sparkling, expanding, _heaving_ under its own weight, until—

The window beside them rattled, and opened of its own accord; in rushed a swirl of golden sparkles, along with the smell of snow. The light twirled around and around the toys, much like their excited sock dog. The force of the star currents twirling knocked both their hats right off, but even then, Dean and Cas held each other tight, eyes closed as they kissed. The joyous universe was elated to see them together.

Dean felt the glow radiate against his wooden cheeks, bringing a pink blush to each. Castiel hugged him close, as the magic took hold of them both, lifting them an inch off their feet. They floated, high in spirits and high in the air, captivated by the moment.

Soon Dean broke the kiss, still smiling. Castiel held his gaze as the magic let them settle back down.

The golden sparkles rushed from Dean and Castiel to their friends – Dean turned to see the others peering curiously over the edge of the kitchen counter, Sam holding the horse, Charlie holding the dog. All of them watched the magic fly past them, twisting and tumbling, then scoot straight back out into the night.

Off it went – up, up, up into the sky, a sparkling ribbon of gold. There it reformed, becoming a star, which beamed out a four-pointed flash before fading to become just like the others.

But... perhaps... it was a little brighter. A little more special.

The window trembled, then slipped closed again with a _clap_. The wind whistled through a new gap, and it sounded almost... melodic.

Outside, the snow glistened like a perfect white sheet across Mickie’s family garden. A young hickory tree stood at the very end, its attention on the mighty, infinite sky.

Castiel lifted Dean’s hands, and without any warning, began to dance with him. Dean realised what was happening, and began to swing into it, letting Castiel lead, waltzing all the way across the windowsill, then back. The wind made their music, tooting like flutes or trumpets, notes swaying to and fro in the air. 

The kitchen filled with the clamours of happy toys, applause and cheerful jumping – and all amongst the celebration, Dean and Castiel shared their second dance, and their second kiss.

As a toy soldier and a cowboy, Dean and Castiel weren’t quite the same – but they were still two of a pair. And, clearly, their little acorn hearts were meant to be together.

~

In the morning, Mickie’s mother beckoned her daughter close, lifting her onto a pulled-out kitchen chair to show her something.

“Did you put them like this?” Maya asked, as Mickie read her lips.

“Me? No-ho!” Mickie laughed. She was delighted to see her new toys posed like they were having a party, dancing around on the kitchen worktop.

“Not even these two?” Maya pointed at the cowboy and one of the soldiers, who were wrapped up in each other’s arms on the windowsill, their faces pressed together, apparently halfway through a slow dance.

“Nuh-uh,” Mickie said. She grinned when Maya pushed the cowboy closer to the soldier, making kissy noises. “Aww! Mamma, are dey in love?”

“Maybe!” Maya said. “But... I thought the... the king soldier married the blue bear yesterday?”

Mickie shook her head. “Dat was yesterday! Da soldier king’s secretly in love with da cowboy even dough dey never met, and he was helpin’ da ninja messenger sneak food out of da palace to help da cowboy save da peasants _all along_. He’s a good king.”

She went on, explaining a fantastic tale that grew and grew the longer she spoke. Maya listened, and nodded, and asked questions – and all the while, the toys listened too, learning their roles for their next incredible game.

~

With all of his friends around him, Dean found there was never a dull moment. Each night as the clock struck twelve, all of them woke on the eleventh chime.

Charlie, the ballerina ninja. Donna, the blue velvet bear. Rcentof the brown sock dog, plus Winnie the rocking horse. Sam, the palace guard. Dean, the good king (sometimes a spy, sometimes a musician, sometimes an undercover hero cowboy, if Mickie decided to swap hats around). And Castiel: the cowboy who was no longer a lone ranger, but part of a family.

Nights were bright with fairy lights, and adventure and exploration.

As a group, they snuck the book on hand-motion language down from Maya’s bedroom, and spent a good portion of every night reading it, practising, learning how to communicate perfectly without spoken words. They’d gotten by fine until then, but _sign language_ was the most remarkable thing to a mute toy. Soon they could have conversations with meanings deeper than ever before.

Always at the mercy of their playful natures, Dean and Castiel galloped from the tea cabinet to the couch, Castiel using his lasso as a flying fox on the fairy lights. As they shot downwards, Dean hung from his cowboy’s waist with a grin on his face and a thrill in his heart. There was not a fleck of fear in him any more.

Even after the Christmas season ended, and the tree and lights were packed away, the toys found fun ways to pass the nights. They made up their own games, had tea parties, rearranged the dollhouse, and made all sorts of things out of scrap paper. They’d leave nice little drawings for Mickie to find in the morning, and revelled in the fact that neither the child nor her mother knew who really drew them.

Within two weeks, all of Dean’s family woke on the tenth chime of the clock. That was how it went: after they were six months old, they’d wake on the ninth chime. By their next Christmas, they’d wake on the eighth. It would take two years before they woke on the seventh, but so it went on.

 _Some night,_ Dean signed, hands twisting as Castiel watched, _we’ll wake up on the first chime_.

They sat alone, together, upon a decorative rock on the windowsill. Through the glass, they watched the snow fall out of the corner of their eyes, but all their attention was really on each other.

“ _We’ll be a hundred years old_ ,” Castiel said, as Dean read his lips.

Dean nodded, signing back, _Like the mouse who lived on the clock ledge, back in the toyshop._

Castiel smiled, sliding his hand to hold Dean’s. He couldn’t sign like that, so spoke, in silence: “ _Will you and I still be together, then?_ ”

Pink circles rose on Dean’s cheek: he was flushed with joy. He nodded. “ _C’mon, Cas, you know we will. We’ll be together until we’re a hundred and one. Longer! Forever and ever._ ”

They would watch the snow until it melted away, at the point of the changing season. They’d watch the daffodils break the earth, and the grass begin to flourish, turning the world green again. They’d watch the hickory tree in the back yard burst with colour, then blossom. The flowers would ride away on the wind, leaving the tree to fade into a darker green.

Dean and Castiel would watch a long summer pass, and every night, they’d be at the window, resting after a night of fun with their family. Holding hands. Pointing out their favourite magic star, sparkling at them from the night sky.

They’d watch the leaves turn brown, and fall, the world on fire for nearly a quarter of the year.

Soon their second Christmas would come around again. Their bodies would be scuffed from rough games, but as Uncle Edwin liked to say, it meant they were loved. Their clothes could be washed, their hats could be repaired, their features repainted with his careful hand and a skill for colour-matching.

The Christmas tree would rise again, and every night, the family of toys would gather beneath it, expressing themselves in fast hand motions, sharing jokes and games and silly stories.

Some night they _would_ wake on the first chime.

Eventually they would be old toys. And they would still love each other, even then. One night, perhaps more than a hundred years from now, they’d go out into the garden, and lay down together in the Earth. They’d wrap themselves in leaves like blankets, and happily snuggle up close to sleep.

And like all the magic toys before them – those with acorns, hickory nuts, or chestnuts for hearts – Dean and Castiel would spout as saplings, and grow side-by-side. Together they’d become one entwined oak tree, creating new life that would last hundreds more years.

Because their hearts were acorns. And they were always meant to grow.

**{ the end }**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who kept me encouraged with feedback while I was finishing up this fic!! I dedicate this fic to you, and I wish you the happiest of Christmasses. ♥
> 
> I've said it before and I'll say it again – _♫ aaaall I want foooor Christmaaaas iiiis... kuuuudos...? ♫_
> 
>  
> 
> ★ [A tumblr post with all the art from this fic!!](http://almaasi.tumblr.com/post/168773255715/here-are-all-the-illustrations-for-my-28k-magical)


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